The Ties That Bind
by DragonDancer5150
Summary: In the early days of the war, a young engineering student and a medical intern are thrust together for survival when their school becomes a battleground.  A longlasting friendship is born in smoke & terror. G1 continuity. Rated for battle scenes. COMPLETE
1. Not You Again

Summary – _"In loneliness, in sickness, in confusion – the mere knowledge of friendship makes it possible to endure, even if the friend is powerless to help. It is enough that they exist. Friendship is not diminished by distance or time, by imprisonment or war, by suffering or silence. It is in these things that it roots most deeply. It is from these things that it flowers."_ (quote credit Pam Brown) – In the early days of the war, a young engineering student and a medical intern are thrust together for survival when their school becomes a battleground. A long-lasting friendship is born in smoke and terror.

Author's Note – Roughly based on the G1 continuity, pre-canon. This is part of my "Designation 24601" series, my version of Wheeljack's background. Please see my profile page for reading order. Cybertronian time measurements: vorn = 83 Earth years, stellar cycle = 1 Earth year, deca-cycle = about 3 Earth weeks, solar cycle = 1 Earth day, a joor = about two Earth hours, breem = 8.3 Earth minutes, astro-second = .498 Earth second.

The format of this story is something a little different for me. This stems from a role-play log on LiveJournal between me and my friend Reve ("yellow_ideya" on LJ). I played Wheeljack, she played Ratchet, and we kind of both handled the NPCs as needed. What we wound up with . . . kinda blew us both away. We felt it was worth cleaning it up and sharing it with others so, with her permission, I've done just that. The difference in format is that the story is told more or less simultaneously from two points of view. I know that it breaks a cardinal rule of fiction writing (looking at you, MyAibou :winks:), but to adapt it any more than I have, so that it sticks to one's POV or the other's, would be to lose a great deal of awesome material by either one or the other of us, so I've not changed that. Hopefully, it won't be too distracting or disruptive. Also . . . I normally have stuff beta'd before I post it, but . . . uh, yeah. Again, I'm sure it needs to be edited more than I'm willing to do at this point. So. Enjoy!

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 1 – "Not You Again!"

_Strangers are just friends waiting to happen_. – unknown

Wheeljack was in the university med-bay. Again. This was . . . what, the third time this deca-cycle? He was on the verge of getting kicked out of his thermodynamics class. But he was _so sure_ his statistical agency theory was sound! He just had to work out a few last variables!

And clean up the lab. Again.

He swung his feet a little as he sat on the repair berth waiting for whatever intern the head medic sent to deal with "that crank-cased glitch from Engineering". He didn't think there was actually anything wrong this time, maybe just some adjustments needed. He wasn't obviously injured, and nothing internal really felt out of place. He was pretty sure his teacher had just wanted to get him _out_ of there before _she_hurt him.

At length, he heard footsteps in the hall outside the exam room and braced himself for the usual tirade.

88888

The word 'long' didn't even begin to describe the shift Ratchet was _so close_to finishing. It almost made him miss the days of academia where at least if he was losing recharge cycles, it was over a relatively energy-taxing act like studying. But this was just one of those shifts where it felt like no one else had wanted to deal with the things they passed on to him just because that was what you did when you were top mech in the ward. Oh for the day when he'd be the one up there rolling the slag downhill.

The datapad he'd been given with his last visit of the shift didn't mention a name, and it looked easy enough; maybe there was someone cutting him a break after all. The moment the door slid open and he caught sight of the mech waiting for him, however, that momentary glimmer of optimism went up in a puff of ether.

"...Oh no." He knew this one- who didn't in this ward? It was getting to the point of a running gag, and Ratchet was feeling like he was being made into the aft end of it. "Again?"

He chucked the data pad onto a nearby table, giving up on whatever it might have said because, with this one, it could be _anything_. A quick visual assessment ruled out anything obvious, but he wasn't about to get his hopes back up. "Wheeljack, our favorite accident victim," he started, his tone measured and calm, "why are you here? For once, you're in one piece. Don't tell me you've managed to poison yourself now?"

It was hard to get _too_ upset with the mech- he struck Ratchet as nice enough, and for the most part he seemed to mean well, but the intern just wished that he didn't have to see him show up _here_ for things that could probably be avoided.

88888

"...Oh no. Again?"

Wheeljack flinched in surprise and looked up from watching his gently swinging feet appear and disappear from view under the edge of the berth. He'd been waiting so long that he'd begun to wonder if they'd forgotten about him . . . or had just decided no one wanted to be bothered with him this time. He couldn't really say he'd blame them, either.

"Eheh..." His vocal indicator flanges flickered softly with the sheepish noise, optics lightening a little with the grin his immobile faceplates couldn't properly express. It took him only a second to recall this intern's name. He'd been making an effort to learn everyone's designations, figuring it was only right since they had to keep patching him back together every other cycle. "Hey, Ratchet. Ah, no. I . . . a-actually don't think there's anythin' wrong this time. I think Teach just wanted me outta the lab before _she_did somethin' ta put me here." He looked down, kicking his legs again in a moment of pensiveness. "Probably writin' up the paperwork ta the doyen now for gettin' me out. Fraggit, an' I was so sure I had it this time!" He paused, then let it go with a soft cycle of air through his exhaust vents. "Oh, well. I've got my notes. Maybe I can talk the doyen inta lettin' me take the class again next semester with another teacher."

To pull himself out of the threatening funk, he looked up, head tilting a bit at the intern. "You? Must be close ta the end'a your shift, yeah?"

88888

Ratchet just crossed his arms, shifted his weight, and listened to the explanation. Could he _really_ be this lucky? On the one hand, he wasn't particularly happy that the faculty had foisted their student off on them-on _him_-but at the same time... he could probably just write this one off and actually leave on time. He did believe Wheeljack when he said there wasn't anything wrong, or at least trusted that he would know best what had happened to him. He was alert, coherent, wasn't displaying any signs of pain or discomfort... and Ratchet was getting off easy for once.

"You are all that stands between me and blissful freedom," he answered, considering the question further beyond the obvious answer; considering Wheeljack himself. Maybe the reason he kept getting the younger engineering student foisted on him was because somehow they'd figured it out that he could deal with this. A part of him understood what Wheeljack was trying to do each time he ended up in Medical.

Finally he moved, grabbing up the datapad he'd just discarded. "But since you've been given over to the tender mercies of my care, I suppose the least I could do is take you off your professor's hands for a while. Recommended treatment: outpatient care. Let's go."

88888

Wheeljack winced, and his gaze dropped. "Nnnn, sorry." He knew what it was like to be almost close to done with something only for "one more thing" to come up and set him back.

He peeked up again as Ratchet went on, his tone wryly amused. "Ya do know that a phrase like 'tender mercy' comin' from a medic doesn't usually mean anythin' good for the patient, right?" The last surprised him a little, though, and his head popped back up the rest of the way. "Huh? Where? I-I mean...sure!" He hopped off the berth, ready to follow.

He half expected Ratchet to just sign him out and send him on his way, getting him off the intern's sensor nodes so he could leave on time. That's what most anyone else would have done, not that he minded - there really wasn't anything _to_ do, after all - but something in the intern's tone suggested otherwise. If nothing else, the engineer was curious.

88888

Ratchet answered Wheeljack's observation with a knowing smirk that left about as quickly as it came; of course he knew. It was exactly why he'd chosen those particular words. Quake in fear, lowly patient!

The deal was, this _was_Ratchet signing Wheeljack out and leaving on time. It all just happened to be transpiring at the same time and in the same direction. He palmed the door open and led the engineer out into the hall, entering a couple quick notes into the datapad as he walked. "As your attending medic, my diagnosis is that you're healthy and sound of processor aside from a possible case of overactive ambition. I recommend quarantine in the campus lounge while the symptoms subside."

He dropped the datapad off at the central desk, waved to the small group of fellow interns gathered together for the start of their shift and exited the ward with Wheeljack in tow.

88888

Wheeljack tensed at "quarantine". He'd had plenty of medics - and other faculty - threaten him with as much, but no one had ever actually _tried_ it! But then the rest of Ratchet's words caught up to him and he relaxed, nodding. "Yeah, I think I can do that."


	2. Chaos in the Quad

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 2 – Chaos in the Quad

_It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends_. – unknown

Wheeljack followed the medic as they stepped out onto the open campus.

"Phew. Thanks for that. I was about ready to eat the next 'pad they gave me just to get out of there."

Wheeljack chuckled. "What, thanks for not slaggin' myself? Yeah, contrary ta popular belief, I'm actually not too fond of it myself. Though . . . I hafta say, that'd be a sight, someone chompin' on a datapad." He snickered and shook his head at the mental image. "Speakin'a that, though . . . when's the last time ya fueled?" He held no illusions that the intern would actually want to spend free time with him - though it would have been nice - but he'd heard about the crazy hours Medical forced on its students and how ragged they too often were. If only for that reason alone, it was a valid question.

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Ratchet's light laugh joined Wheeljack's snicker- he hadn't actually thought about what he'd said, but it was pretty ridiculous in hindsight. "Since before my shift," he answered to the question that followed, which probably explained why a datapad didn't sound completely unappetizing.

"Care to join me for a cube or two of the university's fantastic processed energon? I've always thought the mystery additive gives it a sense of _adventure_." Wheeljack was actually putting up with Ratchet's awful sense of humor- that was a definite point in his favor. Usually his off-color jokes got him sour looks and snappy rebuttals. Not encouragement.

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Okay, Wheeljack was pretty sure he liked this guy. He had a sense of humor - too many seemed to lack that - and he'd just invited the engineer to join him. Weren't many at all who were willing to do that, especially not after they learned a little about him. It didn't seem to take much – less than half what anyone in Medical knew, even.

"Is _that _what that slag is? I thought maybe they were dredgin' the sink drains in the chem labs an' tryin' ta pass it off as some kinda New Age diet. Ya know, for as much as tuition is here, you'd think they could get somethin' halfway close ta real, ya know?"

Yes, true, there was a war going on, but it was so far away . . .

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And as far as Ratchet was concerned, that war could _stay_ far away. He didn't like it; was firmly of the belief that it should never have happened in the first place and the Council was handling it in all the wrong ways. He'd learned very quickly to keep his opinions about it to himself, however. No one wanted to talk about it. Not here.

"Maybe they are. 'Live dangerously: refuel on campus.' It'd make a good new slogan." With the earlier classes getting out and free time before the late ones got started, the quad itself was busy, and Ratchet weaved between fellow students as he walked. "So what exactly was it that you were working on? I don't think anyone in Medical knows _why_ you keep ending up on our doorstep."

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At a good head-plus taller than he was, Wheeljack let Ratchet lead the way through the growing throng, content to follow in the intern's wake. Another _snerk_ escaped him. "I dunno . . . might scare _off_too many people if they actually publicly admitted their fuel's questionable."

The last got a bit of a sardonic noise from the young engineer. "Nobody's been bothered enough ta ask." He bumped another mech going the other way and murmured a quick apology before answering Ratchet's question. "But see, here's the thing . . . "

With that, the intern would find himself treated to a number of theories and project ideas the engineer had worked on, what had gone wrong (that had put him in the Med-bay), the solutions for those he'd finally worked out, and his thoughts on the ones he was still trying to solve, all of which would easily see the pair to the cafeteria if Ratchet actually _let_ him ramble that long.

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"I believe in truth as advertised."

Ratchet settled into listening to Wheeljack talk about his projects, half his attention on the engineer and the other half on working through towards the cafeteria. Nobody had bothered to ask because, for the most part, they all had their own problems. He could understand the mentality - his workload kept his busy enough without worrying about anyone else, but at the same time, he wondered if maybe they ought to _start_ caring. They couldn't be personally involved with every mech that came through their doors, but Wheeljack was a pretty familiar face by now. It was hard not to be curious.

Of course, most of what the engineer was talking about was going over his head, but he understood some of it. At least the younger mech didn't seem to be looking for advice because the extent of what Ratchet would have been able to provide could be summed up in 'have you tried kicking it?'. Still, he made a point of paying attention and responding when he could. It was the least he could do.

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Wheeljack didn't really mind so much that people in Medical hadn't asked. It was actually safer for him, for one, plus the fact that he was just used to it in general. He was one of those who were commonly 'written off' by people. He was an oddball even within his own department, and he came from a very low social level – as might be evidenced by his dialect. Not conducive for being taken seriously by most of Academia. But Wheeljack told himself he didn't mind, that others' opinions of him didn't matter so long as he pursued his dreams. He'd get there, and then they'd see him for who he really was.

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They were about to step inside the cafeteria when Ratchet suddenly stopped, his attention switching from Wheeljack to something distant. "You hear that?" A dull reverberation, like some kind of muffled concussion... It was obvious that he wasn't the only one because a few other mechs around the quad had also paused, most of them looking about as confused as Ratchet did.

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Wheeljack broke off mid-sentence as he walked into the back of Ratchet's shoulder. "Huh?" He turned to look as well, audios straining. A second reverberation sounded, this time faintly felt as well. An explosion of some sort . . . it had to be.

"That wasn't me!" he squeaked on reflex.

It was another moment before the shriek of turbines was audible, followed by a flight of pyramidal jets that streaked by overhead.

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Wheeljack's voice barely registered around the horrible feeling that was crawling up Ratchet's back strut. Something was dreadfully wrong...

The screaming of flight engines obliterated the tense silence, and a collective shout went up from the mechs still scattered on the open quad-surprise more than anything…maybe it was- "...oh slag..."

The realization barely had time to sink in. The jets banked, the sounds of rockets joined the noise, and the Pit broke loose. Deafening explosions; a sudden hail of rubble and debris; terrified screaming; more jets; more weapons fire.

"GET INSIDE! _GET INSIDE!_" Ratchet's voice sounded so small against everything else, but he shouted as loud as he could, slamming the door controls open and trying not to get knocked over in the sudden rush for safety by everyone around them.

Several mechs, their purple emblems clearly visible now, had transformed and were on the ground, opening fire, the sound of laser and gatling fire joining the cacophony of destruction. Ratchet was reeling, flinching as a shot slammed into the side of the building, and his hand grabbed for Wheeljack's arm on reflex. What was happening? WHY was this happening?

Struggling for any kind of grounding in a world suddenly flipped upside down, his processor went immediate back to what he'd dedicated the better part of his life to: the med-bays. Panicked blue optics turned to Wheeljack. "Get to safety!" was all he could think to say before transforming and breaking away, grav-wheels screeching against the ground for traction. He had to get back to the medical wing!

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Wheeljack watched in horror as the jets screamed by overhead, stood frozen at the sight of what he could only take to be incoming rockets. His mind kept shrieking at him to _MOVE! _but his legs simply wouldn't respond to the command.

Then the rockets struck, and buildings peeled open at their metal seams or shattered to dust and chunks of concrete. A maelstrom of activity and cacophonous noise erupted in the wake of the explosions.

"D-definitely not me," he muttered, horror turning to a sort of bleak, sardonic humor wannabe without him even being fully aware of what he was saying, or that he'd spoken at all.

"GET INSIDE! _GET INSIDE!_"

It took an instant for the engineer to register the voice - at once right in his audio and sounding hundreds of meters away - as that of his new intern friend. He tucked back against the wall as Ratchet slammed a hand on the controls inches from his vocal flange. A hot pool of slag melted in his fuel tank as he realized what Ratchet couldn't have known. Two terms ago, in a basic civil engineering class, Wheeljack had been given the cafeteria to study out of a lottery of campus buildings. _Buildin's old an' not too well-designed. One good strike-!_ "Ratchet, no! They'll all be trap-!"

A shot from a heavy blaster rifle slammed the wall just over their heads. Wheeljack felt Ratchet grab his arm, and he did the same, clinging for an instant as he pressed harder back against the wall. As if _that_ would do any good. Decepticon troops had filled the quad, seeming to shoot at anything and everything that moved, and a few things that didn't. _Why are they here! Somethin's gotta have drawn 'em!_ He spared a glance up at the taller mech pressed beside him and saw his own terror reflected in the other's optics.

"Get to safety!"

"What!" he squawked. "_Where?_ H-hey, where're you-!" But too late. The intern had already folded down into his alt-mode and taken off. On reflex, Wheeljack did the same. Almost a third smaller than the intern, his form was somewhat boxy but swift and agile, and he easily caught up to the intern. "Where the smelt do ya think you're goin'? Look out!" A soldier had paused in his advance and was leveling an ugly-looking rifle at them. Without thinking, Wheeljack reacted, swerving on his anti-grav plates to ram the Decepticon before he'd finishing lining up his shot. Wheeljack didn't slow, bouncing up over top as the soldier toppled back and down to the ground, ignoring the new dents in his front fender. He caught back up to the intern with shouts of "Keep goin'! Keep goin'!"

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	3. Too Late

AN: For those YGO friends whom I'm sure will catch it, yep, that _is_ the little tip-of-the-hat that you think it is. XD

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 3 – Too Late

_Friendship is born in that moment when one person says to another, "What! You too? I thought I was the only one."_ – C. S. Lewis

Fear... no, _terror_, panic, horror - there were so many emotions all shrieking for attention, and Ratchet could barely concentrate on anything that wasn't the bulk of the medical ward that seemed to never get any closer no matter how hard he pressed his engine, no matter how hard he prayed to Primus to just _get him there_! He didn't see the Decepticon soldier; didn't see Wheeljack run him down and barely had any comprehension that the other student was even with him until his voice cut through the rest of the static. _He wasn't alone_.

Clinging to that small scrap of reassurance, he red-lined his engine and _kept goin'_. They didn't have a choice now - the quad was a battlefield - no, it was a slaughterhouse because no one could fight back. Decepticons and wreckage weren't the only things to dodge- there was bodies, those who couldn't get out of the way in time, the ones who were gunned down. His spark begged him to stop and help, but he knew there was no point. They'd both just add to the piles if they stopped now. And eventually, finally - blessedly - the doors to the med-bay were upon them, and Ratchet didn't even slow down as he transformed back, feet skidding under him as he barreled through the doors and inside.

Oh Primus. They were too late.

"Stop! These are innocent- !" The laser blast slammed into his shoulder, knocking him backwards and sending him scraping across the floor. The sensation of agony was new, strangling out any sound from his vocal unit in favor of heaving intakes of air, systems struggling to cool under the flood of sensations, all trying to tell him to do something different.

From behind the central desk, the Decepticon that fired the shot stepped towards them. A tall, dark green and grey jetform, his weapon was now leveling in Wheeljack's direction.

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Wheeljack easily kept pace. He could have outstripped the larger vehicle, but what would have been the point? He didn't want to leave the mech! Besides, the other seemed to have an idea of where to go, what to do. Wheeljack didn't know if he could help, but by Primus, if he _could..._

He tried to ignore the debris - both structural and bodily - that they passed even as screams of fright, pain, and death filled his audios from his fellow students. The engineer wasn't so sure he actually _believed_ in Primus, but over the next, anguished breem, he found himself stammering whispered prayers for the dead and dying around him . . . and that he wasn't next!

Reaching the med-bay, only the engineer's agility and quick reflexes kept him from ramming into the intern as the other transformed and darted inside. He followed suit only to cry out and dance back when Ratchet was suddenly thrown to the ground at his feet, his shoulder breached with a laser wound. "Ratchet!" His need to _help_ overrode common sense and his desire to _not get shot_ - despite the advancing Decepticon, Wheeljack dropped to a knee and helped the intern sit up. It was then that he noticed something in the other's hand. A palmed laser scalpel. When...where had he gotten _that_? A flash of inspiration - or maybe just a moment of insanity - struck, and he looked up to meet Ratchet's optics, his own shining bright with terror. The words came out quick and hushed - only the intern _would _hear. "I'll distract 'im."

Shifting on a heel, he twisted and launched himself at the enemy's legs. "Eat floor, ya slagger!"

The soldier was taken completely by surprise, his knees pile-driven out from under him, and he flipped over the engineer. His rifle clattered to the floor, and his faceplates followed an astro-second later.

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_He's going to kill us. Oh slag- oh Primus, he's going to __**kill us**_! For as many times as Ratchet had seen the wounded, the injured, it was never anything like this. They were too far away from all the fighting... they'd never had to treat battle damage. They'd never had to face down the instruments or the perpetrators. Gygax were just a campus city... He was shaking as he pressed up against Wheeljack's side, letting the smaller mech help him up- _we're going to die... we're going to die... I can't die. Not like this. Not now._

He wasn't even supposed to have the tool that he retrieved from the small collection housed, as with all medics, under the plating of his forearm. Interns were barred from participating in any operations that would require a laser scalpel. They were 'observation only' but Ratchet wasn't one to listen to others tell him what he couldn't do, and he'd taken several tools. No one would have missed them and now they were all that he had. These things meant to heal... If he had to, he'd use them to fight for his life. For the life of anyone still left functional. For his new friend.

He heard Wheeljack's voice over the rising whine of the Decepticon's weapon powering up, and when he looked at the engineering student, it was some small, morbid comfort to know that he looked as terrified as Ratchet felt. He nodded and braced himself. This was it then.

The Decepticon let out a furious shriek as he was bowled over, the shot that had been meant to offline the both of them going wild into the ceiling as the shooter slammed hard into the floor. Through sheer force of will, Ratchet forced himself to move, bolting towards the tangle of Decepticon and student, skidding to his knees and grabbing the jet's arm. He wrenched it with enough force to separate the shoulder plating from the main chassis, providing enough of a gap for Ratchet to slam the scalpel down between the plating. He knew where to aim- he'd studied his anatomy datasheets backwards and forwards. There was a vital fluid linkage and the laser blade severed it, striking home and sending up a spurt of hydraulic fluid and energon.

The Decepticon howled in a mix of pain and rage, thrashing to try to remove both the makeshift weapon and his attackers. "Wheeljack, RUN!" Ratchet ducked under the Decepticon's other fist, cryo-spray already replacing the scalpel in his hand, and he took aim at the exposed mechanics on the back of the jet's knee. The flash-frozen lines and servos shattered under the sharp blow of Ratchet's elbow before he too scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry! I-" he cut himself off, unable to even process what was going on- what they were doing- what _he'd done_-

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Wheeljack had been threatened and bullied before, even held down by thugs and pummeled more times than he cared to think about. But even experiences like those could never have prepared him for that roar of pain and rage, or the new level of fright and horror at being trapped beneath the one who owned it. He scrambled out from under the wounded, thrashing Decepticon.

"Wheeljack, RUN!"

_Not without you!_

As Ratchet smashed the soldier's knee, drawing a new howl that made the fuel in the engineer's lines run hot, he cast about for something to defend himself with. What he spotted dropped a lead slag weight in his manifold . . . but in reality, it was probably the best thing he could hope for. He snapped up the Decepticon's discarded rifle, then caught Ratchet's arm as the other was apologizing on reflex. "Be sorry later! RUN NOW!"

The pair bolted down the hall, Ratchet again taking the lead. His gait was a little longer, he knew these halls far better than the engineer, and once more, he seemed to have a specific destination in mind. Wheeljack had no problem going along for the ride. But he was worried for his new friend, having no way to tell how bad his shoulder wound was.

Ah! But that might help! "Ratchet!" Wheeljack yanked open the door marked "SUPPLIES" and caught the intern's arm with the other hand. _No! Wrong arm!_ he admonished himself, realizing too late he'd caught his friend by his wounded limb. Letting go, he opted for wrapping his arms around the other's chest, half-supporting and half to _throw_ him into the walk-in closet, diving in after and pulling the door closed just in time to avoid being spotted by a cluster of Decepticon soldiers rounding a corner farther down the hall in the direction they'd been heading.

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Ratchet bolted down the hall with Wheeljack. The whole building was in ruins, rubble everywhere from where the Decepticons had just opened fire, not caring if they had to empty a whole power pack just to hit one target. They passed bodies, but even hasty surface scans proved that they were beyond help; most were already offline, their sparks fading past the point of hope. He had to get to the administrative offices. The directors would know what to do, where to go.

"SON OF A **GLITCH**!" Ratchet's legs buckled at the spike of agony from his shoulder as it was suddenly used to stop all of his considerable forward momentum. He crashed back into Wheeljack, optics flickering as systems rebooted in the wake of the shock, and the next thing he knew, he was being grabbed and dragged away. An instinctive scream was cut short as he was hauled into the supply room - balance, footing and higher processing powers all momentarily absent - and the two mechs collapsed in a heap on the floor.

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Wheeljack stifled a yelp as Ratchet had latched onto him for balance, and the two went down in a tangle, his grip on the door handle the only thing slamming it closed behind them before his hand wrenched free when he kept going and the door didn't, stopping abruptly against its jambs. The pair was plunged into near blackness, only a line of thin light along the floor tickling at their feet.

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	4. Together

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 4 – Together

_I have a hand and you have another; put them together and we have each other_. – Girl Scouts Motto

For a minute, all Ratchet could think to do was lay there and gasp, systems struggling to keep from just shutting down between exhaustion, sensory overload, and shock. "..._FRAG_-" he grunted after the sound of heavy, armored footsteps had finished passing by outside, the intern jerking upright and scrambling to press his back up against the nearest wall.

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Wheeljack laid curled over the intern, clinging involuntarily and shaking harder than he ever remembered in his life. _Primus, if you're really out there, please, PLEASE, let us get outta this alive! ...a-and free_, he amended as a sudden, creative image crossed his mind of what being captured might look like and a faint whimper of terror buzzed from his modulator. He listened tensely as the resounding footsteps approached - _don't find us don't find us PLEASE don't look in here! _- and receded. Another strangled yelp escaped him as the intern wrenched himself upright and away.

"Ahn! S-sorry! Sorry sorry I'm sorry I-" He cut himself off, trying to rein back on his blind panic. Mindless apologies weren't going to get them anywhere, and there'd been a reason he'd dragged them both in here. He'd _cringed_ at Ratchet's agonized curse when he'd caught the intern's arm, and he was sure he'd accidentally ripped the wound wider open . . . but at least the intern was still _alive_. Unfortunately, not knowing the extent, the severity, of the damage, he didn't know how much longer that might last.

_I-I can't lose you. You might be the only other one left!_

Stumbling to the door, he fumbled around until he found a switch. Sudden light blinded him for an instant as his optics shut down, rebooted, and recalibrated. Almost before he could see again, he'd turned to start attacking the shelves, muttering in an undertone. "Gotta be somethin' here that'll do the trick..."

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Emergency situation subroutines were the only things keeping Ratchet from slipping into shock- they'd carried him this far, overriding more delicate systems that would have shut down- but now that he had nowhere to run, they were starting to slide away. In the dark, the sounds of explosions, gun fire and screaming muffled by layers of metal, the labored sounds of his vents desperately cycling air seemed to echo in his audio receptors, and without the sensory dampeners that had been in effect thanks to the emergency overrides, he was acutely aware of just how much his shoulder _hurt_.

He hissed at the sudden burst of light, his own optics readjusting but slowly. He could see the internal diagnostic warnings before he could see his surroundings, alerts flashing red in the corner of his vision. He turned his attention to Wheeljack and the mess he was making as his auto repair system continued to feed him information.

"What are you _doing_?"

The yank on his arm had popped the servos of his shoulder out of alignment; the blast itself had severed most of the fluid lines in the joint but had thankfully just missed the main energon line. It was going to hurt like the Pit, but at least he wouldn't drain out. Of course, between the wound and the struggle with the Decepticon, it probably _looked_ ten times worse. Most of Ratchet's torso was splattered in various fluids, and his own injury had leaked down his arm, staining the white plating interesting shades of black and bright pink.

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"Slaggit!" Wheeljack threw down a box of clamps in mounting frustration, then jumped, cringing with a frightened glance at the door, when the box hit the ground and burst apart, clamps scattering noisily around his feet. If this were a supply closet in Engineering, he'd know exactly what he wanted, what it looked like, and in what box on which shelf to find it. But this wasn't Engineering and he was woefully clueless.

"You're the medic; you tell me!" _Okay, that was uncalled for_, he realized, regretting the words immediately. Passing a hand over his face, he tried again, marginally calmer. "There's gotta be some kinda first aid kit or _somethin'_ in here ta patch up your arm."

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"Give me a _slaggin' astrosecond_!" was Ratchet's snapped, knee-jerk reply to Wheeljack's own irritated answer. They were both stressed beyond the point of rationale - tired, terrified, and shell-shocked. It wasn't a surprise that their processors would be on edge, but neither of them was thinking about that right now. Ratchet drew in a deep, slow cycle of air before bracing his good arm against the wall and levering himself up. "Over here."

"First of all, the joint is completely out of place. You're gonna have to force the whole assembly back into alignment because I can't do it myself." He moved past Wheeljack to another shelf, pushing aside a few boxes to get at the ones behind. "After that, there are two major lines that need to be patched, otherwise I'm not gonna be able to transform." Talking focused him, forced him to think logically about what was happening and block out anything that didn't involve the repairs. "The lateral support and main radial struts need to be reinforced to make up for the damage, and then the hole can be plated."

He threw a couple of tools into a box of repair plating: cutters, binding strips and pieces of splintmetal. The collection was then held out to Wheeljack. Despite the gruff tone, there was still fear and panic written across Ratchet's face, suppressed from his vocal unit but not his optics. There was gratitude in there and no small amount of desperation as well. He knew that they barely knew each other but had somehow been thrust into this nightmare - this...massacre - together. They didn't have any choice but to trust each other.

"...Please."

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Wheeljack flinched at the snapped response but didn't say anything. He knew the same that Ratchet did - they were both terrified, stressed beyond capacity, and consequently liable to take their fears and frustrations out on each other in the absence of any other outlets. But they couldn't, not if they wanted to survive. They needed each other . . . and _not _as stress drones.

On reflex, he moved to help Ratchet as the intern struggled back to his feet. He shoved back the waves of terror-induced vertigo to pay attention to what the intern was saying and gathering. The tools weren't really all that different from the ones he was already familiar with. And really, barring the life that a Cybertronian's spark bestowed and the special changes that went with it, was a body really any different from the devices and equipment the engineer had spent his life studying, tinkering with, modifying and improving?

He had something to do, something to work on, something to _fix_, and it helped calm the engineer's mind, however marginally. He could do this. He could _do _this. He was no medic, but he could do this. Ratchet knew what to do. He knew he was talking about. This would be fine. The matter-of-fact, no-nonsense gruffness of the intern's tone actually served as a grounding wire for the younger mech.

And then Ratchet turned to him, and their optics met once more. And Wheeljack nearly caved, his faith wavering. Ratchet was as terrified and panicky as he was.

And needed him.

The realization was a new grounding wire. _I can do this._ He'd be the strong one, the one that made sure things got done no matter what. One of them had to do it, and Ratchet was seriously injured. It wasn't _fair_ to ask him to lead.

Shaking hands took the box from the other's grasp. "W-we're gonna be okay." He didn't know where that came from, but suddenly he glommed onto it with all his internal strength. He put a hand on the taller mech's shoulder, his uninjured one, voice gaining a certainty that was undoubtedly false but nevertheless _sounded_ good, and they both needed to hear it. "Listen. W-we're gonna be okay. We've made it this far, right? We're not dead, an' we're not caught. We're gonna get outta this. Just you watch."

A soft noise of uncertainty, a sort of gulping sound, buzzed from his modulator as his optics dropped to the wound.

He drew a deep cycle of air through his vents, fighting to calm the fluctuations sparking through his relays. "I'll getcha fixed up the best I can, Ratch. I promise. Just tell me what I gotta do. I'll describe what I see, you tell me how ta fix it." He looked back up to the other's optics. "Deal?"

He held out his hand, and he was really asking more than the words spoke on the surface. He was asking for Ratchet's trust, and offering his own - not just for the repair, but the long run. They were in this mess together . . . or not at all.

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There really wasn't anything that Ratchet wanted more at this point than to crawl into a corner somewhere and just... have his own personal breakdown. Curl up somewhere and wait for it all to go away. He hurt, inside and out; why did this have to happen? Why did all those mechs have to die...? For _what_?

But the unexpected hand on his shoulder and the words from Wheeljack... they reminded him that _they_ were alive. And while he may not have believed for any fraction of an astro-second that they were actually going to be okay, it still felt good to hear. It was almost funny, in a way: here they were, shaking and cowering in a supply closet, and Wheeljack was telling him that everything was going to work out. He would have laughed if it hadn't been so upsetting.

He nodded, once without much conviction behind it, then again, firmer. His friend was making an attempt to hold it together; the least he could do was return the favor. "Deal." He gripped Wheeljack's hand, forcing a bit of bravery into his expression, even if it didn't feel entirely real. They'd just have to pretend for a while longer. He moved back to the wall and sat back down, pulling his currently inoperable arm to rest across his legs.

"The first thing you need to do is realign the joint. There's a set of rotation cogs and junction brackets that are disconnected. Just look for the gears and clamps that are out of alignment. You need to push them back into place - use the nose of the cutters if you need the leverage and don't try to be gentle. The structure is under a lot of pressure, so you'll need just as much to move it." He braced himself and diverted as much system focus as he could to blocking out the sensor arrays in his shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun.

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Wheeljack shuddered as he got a closer look at the damage and fully realized what he needed to do - or more's the point, just how much he was going to have _hurt_ Ratchet to do it. "Y-yeah . . . yeah, o-okay, I see what you're talkin' about." There were a lot of things he'd never really seen before, not with his own optics, but there was just as much that he had, or close enough. He could tell where the bogs were and what he needed to twist in which directions to break them free and get them back in order.

He hated to see another mech hurt, let alone be the one to inflict the pain. But . . . he needed to do this, for Ratchet's sake. And it wasn't like he was being intentionally abusive, or that the intern didn't know what he was in for.

Gingerly, he took hold of Ratchet's arm in one hand and placed his other on the intern's chest. His tone was grim as he met the other's optics again just briefly. "Brace yourself, pal."

And with that he set to work, doing so as quickly but carefully as he could to shorten his new friend's agony as much as possible. He clamped back on his apologies, letting them echo around in the back of his mind as he just focused on doing what needed to be done.

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In all fairness, Ratchet had never dislocated his own shoulder assembly, but he'd put enough of other mechs' back into place to know very well that it wasn't a pleasant experience. It couldn't possibly hurt more than what had already been done to him . . . right?

He made a point of keeping the uncertainty away from his expression when Wheeljack looked at him; it was just grim determination. Get it over and done with so they could get out of here. It was another story entirely the moment the engineer starting pushing- metal scraped against metal, straining and stretching delicate linkages, grinding over exposed sensory nodes.

"Just shove it into place!" he barked, heels digging into the floor and optics dimming almost completely out. He felt Wheeljack shift and then redouble his efforts and finally the last gear of the assembly snapped back into place. Ratchet yanked his good hand up and bit down on his knuckles to muffle the distressed cry of pain. _Primus_his shoulder ached, but with the joint back in contact with all the right pieces, he could feel the sensory connections being remade, and he flexed the fingers of that hand experimentally.

"Good job. Thank you. Now it's just an open wound to deal with." He had to be more exhausted than he realized if the sarcasm was kicking in.

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Wheeljack curled back _just_ a fraction at the sharp command. He understood it was more out of pain than anything, but the engineer didn't want to work _too_ quickly or carelessly and wind up adding to the damage. Instead, he just silently kept at it.

The agonized intern did really well to keep his own noise level down, and Wheeljack remained focused enough on what he was doing to keep from constantly glancing at the door, ignoring the paranoid back corner of his mind that expected a shot in the back before he was finished. But there was no shot, no threatening voice, no sound of the door opening, no footsteps outside at all. Unfortunately, at the end, Wheeljack had to work extra hard to get the last pieces to snap past each other back into alignment, and his optics _did_ finally dart to the door in a spark-freezing moment of panic as the intern jammed a fist in his mouth to stifle the scream.

_S-sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry!_

The sarcasm was unexpected enough that the engineer's mind almost didn't register the words because they 'didn't make sense.' But then the rest of his cognizance caught up as he looked back at the intern. A soft chuckle escaped him. "Now we get ta the hard part, right?" Pulling a cycle of air, he studied things anew, seeing what next to address, describing the damage and commenting with his thoughts.

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"Don't get squeamish on me or anything," Ratchet answered, his tone wry. He listened to the engineer talk and leaned his head back against the wall, optics offlining to give the systems a rest. Not much point anyway when he could get better information between Wheeljack and his own diagnostics.

"Okay, sounds like the main radial strut is okay, but you'll need to splint the lateral support to take the strain. It should be to the left-your left-of the wound, a horizontal bar coming in above the rotation assembly." He brought his other hand around, the tool compartment in his arm producing a precision arc welder that he offered up to Wheeljack. "Take the splintmetal and brace the strut. You're basically just making a patch across the damaged section- weld the splint to the undamaged portions of the bar."

This at least he could tolerate without the threat of making too much noise. The thick structural struts were far less sensitive than the more intricate assemblies. He simply pressed his fingers into his palm and let Wheeljack work, offering advice when needed.

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Wheeljack tilted his head, flanges flickering softly. "C'mon, I do this all the time, stickin' my fingers in other mechs' chests." Despite the return humor, he couldn't help an inward frown of concern when Ratchet let his head fall back. _Stay with me, pal._

He listened, nodding, as Ratchet told him what to do next, accepting the arc welder - a surprisingly familiar tool - and fishing a splintmetal from the box he'd been handed earlier. He leaned in to get started, gingerly working the splintmetal into place and telling himself this was no different than sticking his hands into a piece of machinery to work, but then he paused . . . looked around, spotted a thick gradebar, snatched it up and held it to Ratchet's mouth. "Sorry I didn't think of it sooner. Here, bite on this." Whether or not the intern accepted it was neither here nor there - he held it there long enough to get the point across, then would set it on the top plane of the intern's chest, in front of his neck, if he didn't take it right away. They were operating on borrowed time. The sounds of battle outside had not relented - if anything, they'd gotten worse (had Autobot forces arrived?) - and the longer the pair lingered in here, the more chance there was of either the building being reduced to rubble around their helms or someone thinking to do a sweep and finding them. Blocking out the muffled noises, he did the welding job quickly, with a fine-detail skill born of vorns of delicate work on various school projects and personal inventions.

He was focused and all business, with an undercurrent of grim urgency, as he followed Ratchet's instructions task-for-task to complete the patch job as well as could be managed.

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Ratchet powered up one optic and stared at the bar he was being offered. Might not be such a bad idea, and he took it from Wheeljack just in case. Thankfully, the engineer seemed to have a surgeon's eye - the irony was not lost on the medic - and he was actually doing a very good job now that he wasn't being asked to apply blunt force to anything. Still didn't stop it from stinging like the Pit when that welder fused his own strut to the splint.

Once he'd finished there, Ratchet walked him through repairing the severed fluid lines; the tubes were trimmed with the cutters - that had needed the stupid gradebar - then reconnected with the patch tubing. It bonded on a molecular level and, while the hold wouldn't last forever, it would be enough to get them out of here. Maybe. It would let him transform, at least.

A sudden explosion shook the very floor under them then, the entire building shuddering around them, and Ratchet's audio receptors rung in the wake of the shockwave. "Are they bombing the medical building?" Oh Primus, they were going to be trapped in here if they didn't get _out_. "Get that plating welded over the hole - don't worry about the exit wound, it'll keep. We need to get out of here." The sooner, the better. Ratchet's head was reeling, and the quicker he could get back on his feet, the better.

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Wheeljack was settled back on his heels as he worked. It was comfortable - as much so as he was going to be - and stable. But then a deafening blast rocked the room. Wheeljack was at least a little "used to" explosions, having been the cause of plenty himself - audial dampeners kicked in instantly to protect his hearing, optics shutting down briefly on reflex. Still, it was with a startled yelp of fright that he was knocked into Ratchet by the blast, helms clanking painfully. He managed to snatch his hands back from Ratchet's shoulder before he could stick the arc welder into something it had no business burning, but it meant tucking his hands to himself, and the welder put a small hole in his own chest instead. The engineer barely had time to react to the hot pain before he was dropping the tool completely, popping up on his knees to throw his arms over Ratchet's head and tuck over him protectively as debris from the ceiling and boxes off the shelves rained down over both of them.

"Are they bombing the medical building?"

_Or one right next doo-! Engineerin'!_The Physical Sciences Department (really a lump of disciplines collected under one roof) was located next to Medical for a reason - namely the high possibility for accidents as compared to most other disciplines taught at the university. Between solvents and other chemicals and the devices they worked with, from mundane to experimental, there was quite a lot in the building that could go up in rather impressive fireballs if rockets or weapons fire hit just the wrong place.

Wheeljack frowned a bit at the directive to leave the exit wound uncovered, but he couldn't argue the medic's point and figured he'd know better of the two what could be left unaddressed for now. Working quickly, he finished the patch job, then helped Ratchet to his feet. "Fill your subspace. We may need some'a this later." He turned to do the same, stooping to snatch up the box of tools Ratchet had tossed together and shoving it into his subspace compartment. As he rummaged through the shelves again, however, a new thought came to him - it wasn't uncommon for six ideas to cross the engineer's processor in an astro-second - and the random flotsam he started pulling together instead might have confused the intern.

* * *

Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	5. True Hope

Author's Note: One's true hope lies not in places, but in people.

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 5 – True Hope

_Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel_. – William Shakespeare

Ratchet let Wheeljack haul him back into his feet, steadying himself while the engineer started rummaging through the shelves again. There had been a moment, when the smaller mech had covered him from the falling debris, that everything had somehow managed to claw its way back to the forefront of Ratchet's processor, and he was reminded that they were only just two very small mechs in the middle of something very, very big. His overtaxed and underfueled processor was having a hard time dealing with it now that he had to again.

But he set his feet under him, drew in a deep cycle of air, and regathered his resolve. Following after Wheeljack, he snatched up a few more scalpels, snapping a few into his arm compartment for easier access and putting the rest into subspace along with some extra cartridges for the cryo-spray and spare patch plating. It took him a fraction of a breem to find what he needed, but when he turned to look for Wheeljack, he found the engineer throwing random things into his own collection.

"What are you doing? You can't take the whole closet!"

The building rumbled again, and this time the force was enough to topple several free standing shelving units. And not a moment after the initial shock, several other, smaller explosions could be heard from the direction of the other department- the beginnings of a chain reaction. They had to leave. _NOW_.

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"Not plannin' to." Wheeljack grunted as he dropped heavily to his knees following most of the collection he'd gathered. "You're aware'a the prank wars that go on in Engineerin', right?" His hands were shaking despite the relative steadiness of his voice, and he had to pause and slap one against his thigh in a vain attempt to steady it. He knew what he was doing, had built one of these before, had most all the materials and had already worked out substitutes for the rest in his head, or ways to get around it. Designing and building, creating, _problem-solving_ were his forte after all, his sharp mind eight to twelve steps ahead of anyone else when the pressure was on. (Of course, there was the odd time that he missed a step or two as a result, after which he was liable to wind up in the med-bay, but that was neither here nor there.) He kept talking as his hands worked, sure of the tasks even as they were trembling.

"Distraction, Ratch. Flashbang in case we get cornered'r somethin'. Couple deca-cycles ago, me an' another mech built this-!" Once more, working on something had given him a measure of calm, of focus, but both shattered at the forceful reminder of the battle going on just outside. He cut off with a cry of fright, jumping back out of the way as the whole building felt like it _lurched_ and one of the shelving units slammed down to the ground right onto what the engineer had started assembling.

Wheeljack found himself pressed against the wall behind him, gaze darting around the room without any real comprehension of what he might even be looking _for_. Air passed through his vents in quick, ragged cycles as he took in the mess of the room and the lost cause of his assembly attempt. He looked up at Ratchet, optics shining bright with renewed terror. "O-o-okay, n-never mind. We'll make due! C'mon!" He snatched up the discarded rifle once more, not that he had any illusions of knowing how to actually _use_ it, and threw himself at the door. He spared only an instant to check up and down the hallway before bolting out and down the way they'd originally been headed.

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_Prank wars_? There was a REAL war going on! "What does that have to do with anything?" Ratchet didn't even try to keep the panic out of his voice, half tempted to just drag Wheeljack out of the room before they were buried in here. His explanation, however, did seem to make sense, and while Ratchet wasn't happy waiting now that things were ramping up again, he gave the engineer the benefit of the doubt, shifting uneasily while the other mech worked.

Right up until the shelves collapsed on the entire thing and Ratchet halfway expected it to explode under their feet. He was running to Wheeljack before he could register that his feet were moving, grabbing his friend's arm, ready to pull him away, but in the first bit of good luck that they'd had so far, the device remained inert. He caught the look the other shot him then, and it seemed that the little bubble of safety and assurance that they'd built for each other had just popped.

He kept his hold on his friend's arm as the other checked the hallway and then slipped out into it, refusing to let go out of some - probably misguided - sense of security. "Administration!" he said suddenly, tugging on Wheeljack's arm as they approached an intersection. "This way!" He broke off down the other hall, dodging out of the way of several toppled medical carts along the way.

Someone there would know what to do... someone there had to still be alive. They had to be...

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Wheeljack didn't mind the desperate clamp that was Ratchet's hand on his arm. In fact, he welcomed it, needed it. It was a reassuring presence, and he found himself gripping in return to the intern's wrist to make sure it _stayed_there.

If nothing else, they couldn't afford to get separated.

Once more, Ratchet seemed to know what to do, and the engineer easily let him take the lead again. He'd not really known where they were going anyway, though he didn't realize as much until that point. The pair tore down the hallway, still clinging to each other. Each turned a shoulder as they reached a set of double doors to the outside, ramming through and stumbling only a little, leaning on one another, before they regained their balance and renewed their flight.

The space on this side of the building was a park of sorts, walkways dotted with benches winding between decorative sculptures. Now, however, those pieces of artwork lay scattered in a twisted disarray of half-melted alloys barely recognizable for what they'd been only breems ago. At the other end stood the Theater and Performing Arts and the Visual and Practical Arts buildings. Between and behind those could be seen the impressive edifice of the Administration building.

Decepticon soldiers prowled the other end of the commons, and the pair of frightened students ducked and weaved through the maze of fallen artwork, huddling tucked under tortured beams when someone even hinted at turning their way. They were halfway to the theater building when another explosion rocked their world, knocking them both off their feet as the ground shook with concussive force.

Wheeljack's helm was ringing, his audial dampeners insufficient to handle a shockwave of that magnitude. He'd thrown an arm over his face to protect it, protect his optics, but when he looked up, there was a small part of him that wished for just a brief instant that he'd been blinded after all. It would almost be a mercy in comparison to the sight that met his stunned gaze.

The proud edifice of Administration crumbled and sank below a cloud of smoke and debris. If anyone was still alive over there, they'd be wishing they weren't.

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Emergency programs were back online in full; pain shut out; warnings overridden. They were the redundant systems that medics relied on to make sure that when everyone else was falling apart, _they_ were still around to put the rest of the world back together. Those programs were the only things keeping Ratchet online at this point. He moved with Wheeljack through the ruined sculpture gardens - just a little farther now. They were almost there. They'd be safe once they reached Administration... he _knew _it.

Ratchet barely had time to register what had happened before the concussive force from the blast knocked him over, systems frantically rebooting and recalibrating between the shockwave and the impact with the ground. When everything finally came back up and he was able to push himself upright again, all that was left of the building - their – _his _– hope - was a rising plume of smoke.

"No!" He was on his feet in an instant, still reeling, processor struggling to come to terms with what he was seeing; with what it meant. "NO!" He stepped backwards on unsteady legs, optics fixed on the ruins. The Decepticons were going to level the entire school and for _**WHAT**_!

A dark arm suddenly snapped around his neck, and Ratchet found himself yanked up off the ground, feet kicking wildly and fingers scraping at the thick blast armor covering the limb holding him. "Wheeljack! HRK-" In all their surprise, the Decepticon had gone completely unnoticed, and now Ratchet could feel the cables and struts in his neck being pinched and strained in the stranglehold the darker mech had on him. Without thinking, he grabbed a scalpel from its compartment and jammed it down into the 'Con's forearm once, twice, again and again in a frantic bid to either get him to let go or distract him long enough for Wheeljack to get away. The Decepticon simply snarled in pain and irritation, pulling his rifle around with his free hand and jamming it against Ratchet's side.

"'Show you to put holes in me, Neutral scrap!"

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"LET 'IM GO!" Wheeljack snarled, the strength of his fury surprising him. He didn't let his shock slow him, however, as he brought his own rifle around to connect with the soldier's head. He was holding it awkwardly, though, unfamiliar and decidedly _uncomfortable_ with the high-powered weapon. Consequently, one hand was right by the firing mechanism, and when the muzzle hit home and the force jarred through the weapon, the engineer's fingers slipped. The rifle discharged, the shot point-blank and blowing most of the enemy mech's head apart. Recoil threw the engineer to the ground with new, deep dents in his chest and shoulder. He sat up, then realized what he'd just done as he watched the mech crumple to the ground behind Ratchet.

Emergency protocols kicked over as the engineer's systems red-lined and threatened to shut down in abject shock. "S-sorry . . . s-sorry, I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean-"

Unfortunately, the commotion had drawn more unwanted attention.

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Ratchet heard the sharp crack and for a moment thought that another building had been blown apart, but then he was suddenly dropped, pitching forward, and the heat and viscera registered. His vocalizer let out an abused protest of a wheeze as he regained his footing, and he wiped at his optics unsteadily, suddenly extremely aware that his helm was covered in parts of the Decepticon's _head_.

"Oh Primus-" he whipped around to face Wheeljack, but the other mech looked like he was about a klik away from just shutting down. There was noise from all around them on the yard, shouting and jet engines and heavy armored footsteps running. Running in their direction. He looked back at the terminated Decepticon, the inner contents of his head spread out around him, and even if Ratchet had the inclination to identify the parts, they were all in pieces anyway. "Wheeljack..." His attention turned back to the engineer, who didn't seem to be registering anything. "Wheeljack!"

Ratchet reached out and grabbed the rifle from his friend's hand, more to make sure he didn't try to use it again in a panic, his other hand pressing to the fresh dents on his chest, assessing the damage. "_Wheeljack_!" They'd be sore for sure, but he'd have to live with it for now. He gripped his friend's helm then and yanked his head around to find the other student's optics with his own. "Hey! Apologize later, run now, right? C'mon!" If he could get his friend moving again, they'd hopefully be transformed and off across the gardens before the Decepticons finished closing in around them.

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The rifle easily came free of Wheeljack's nerveless grip, his optics still locked on the horrifying mess spreading across the walkway in a viscous soup of black and hot pink. A hand pressed to his chest and he started to cringe back, curling with his hands clutching his head. He couldn't think. All he could do was replay the terrible sight of the mech's head splitting open in a flash of energon and sparks. But then something grabbed his head, and he shrieked in sudden panic, jerking back, trying to escape.

But in doing so, he spotted Ratchet. His friend was alive - not captured, not dead. He was saying something. What was he saying? _'C'mon!'_ Okay, that registered. YIPE! And so did the shots that started whizzing over their heads! Wheeljack ducked with a panicked cry at the sharp rapports of gunfire. Then, clinging to Ratchet, he very literally _pulled_ himself to his feet and transformed, ready to try to bolt for cover.

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	6. Epiphany

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 6 – Epiphany

_Friends are like stars; they always seem to shine when the night is at its darkest_. – Meredith Shea

Ratchet threw the rifle down, helped haul Wheeljack back to his feet, and transformed with the other student. They couldn't run forever, and with most of the school literally coming down around them, they were going to have to figure _something_ else out. His mind raced as he took off across the gardens at top speed, knowing that Wheeljack would be able to keep up. Laser fire scorched his plating where the cross-fire managed to graze him despite his best efforts, dodging around destroyed artwork, ruined walkways, and Decepticons themselves.

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Frightened and desperate, Wheeljack had no problem at all keeping up with the emergency response alt-mode of his friend, his own anti-grav drive keeping him on a cushion of space just over the ground that made him maneuverable and fast. Many of the smaller obstacles and debris that Ratchet was forced to dodge around, Wheeljack just went right over.

Weapons fire and the shouts and snarls of enemies pounded through his audios as he hugged Ratchet's bumper across the ravaged park. But then a shot hit home. Agony flashed through the engineer's systems as a blaster shot ripped a long gash across his flank, the force sending the boxy little cargo carrier into a dizzying roll. Wheeljack didn't think, just reacted - transformed to root-mode, then immediately back, to catch himself, right himself, and take off once more. "KEEP GOIN'!" he called to Ratchet, not wanting the other to lose ground or momentum coming back for him. If he couldn't catch back up, he didn't want to slow or hinder the other's escape.

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"Lose 'em in the smoke!" Ratchet cried to Wheeljack as he punched it towards what was left of Administration. The cloud of dust and smoke kicked up from the fall of the great building was thick and smothering, but it would keep them safe from visual scans for a while at least. Ratchet's now mottled off-white form disappeared into the smog, and he hit the emergency lights on his roof just long enough for Wheeljack to find and follow him as he fishtailed around behind a crumbled wall and transformed.

"Here! Here!" He reached out for his friend, groping through the obscuring mess for contact.

"I don't know where to go," he admitted when they were back together again, clutching at whatever part of Wheeljack he could get his hands on. They were getting down to the end of their already precariously short ropes.

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Wheeljack dove after Ratchet into the smoke, trailing the brief flashes of emergency lights. In here, the debris in the air forced him to slow down, his sensors scrambled by some of the particles in the air. He heard Ratchet transform somewhere close ahead and he did the same, then yelped as someone grabbed him. He started to fight, thinking for an instant they'd driven into a trap. He quickly realized it was the medic himself and switched from trying to pull away to _clinging__ to_ the other.

The pair collapsed in a heap in the poor shelter Ratchet had found for them. Wheeljack tucked against the other's chest, trembling and pulling vent-clogging air in harsh, rapid cycles. Plating on his right leg and a portion of his right arm had been ripped open by the blast. His substructure seemed to have escaped damage for the most part, but his internal diagnostics were still showing more yellow and red than he liked, and he hurt. A lot.

_I-I can't do this I can't do this I __**can't do this**__!_

"I don't know where to go."

Wheeljack could hear the lost tone in Ratchet's voice. "I-I don't either," he confessed softly. "M-maybe . . . maybe if we can make it long enough, Autobot forces'll arrive, an' we can get help from them?" It was the "making it long enough" part that worried him, though. Already, he could hear distant, shouted orders as Decepticon troops started combing the rubble here for survivors.

The engineering student finally allowed a moment to ask himself the same question Ratchet had been wondering. _WHY! Why is this happenin'? What do they _want_? They gotta be after someth-!_

The answer - or anyway, a possible one - hit him like a concussion blast, and he went rigid with new horror, his voice reduced to a whisper. "S-sparks alive! Oh Primus, no! T-they can't!"

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Ratchet hadn't expected to make it this far, and he had no idea how far beyond this moment their dumb luck was going to take them. He didn't want to wait; he didn't want to run; he was exhausted and tired of being afraid and panicked and just waiting for the rifle blast that would finally terminate him. All he could do right now was hold on to his friend and try to pretend that they were safe for now.

How long had it been? How far away was the nearest Autobot center? He didn't know. He pressed back against the ruined wall and shifted his grip on Wheeljack, hands suddenly finding twisted plating. "Slag. Hold still." He grabbed Wheeljack's arm in one hand and retrieved a set of metal sheers with the other, setting about with a grim focus in getting the sharp fissures in the engineer's plating evened out for patching.

And then somewhere around the sounds of the repairs and the continuing destruction, he caught Wheeljack's voice, heard his muttered exclamation. Blue optics peered through the dust at the other student. "...What? What do you know?"

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Wheeljack gasped in pain as Ratchet set to work on the ragged edges, but even that couldn't pull his mind from the terrible realization. Voice thin with horror, he pulled his arm from the medic's grip. "Never mind me! We-" He cut off, his voice dropping. "I-I think . . . I-I think I might know why the Decepticons're here. I think I know what they're after! Primus, how can I be so _stupid_!" He turned and punched the wall, but it was with his wounded arm, and the sudden stress flashed new sparks of pain through the limb. He fell back with a stifled cry, other hand clutching the wound. He shook his head. "We all were. I-I don't think _anyone _really guessed."

He looked up and met Ratchet's optics, speaking quickly now. "Special project, everyone on the team handpicked - a grad student, two undergrads, an' me. Matter/anti-matter converter. W-we . . . we actually managed it! We got a workin' converter! In theory, it works, but no one'd ever been successful in practice before! Teacher was gettin' edgy, though, like there was a deadline for us doin' this. A-an' . . . I thought I saw somethin' on his desktop once, some kinda communication. Looked official an' important. It was half covered with other stuff, but I thought I saw part of an Autobot insignia."

His optics flared brighter as he clutched at Ratchet's shoulders. "That's _gotta be it!_ Teacher was workin' for the Autobots, the Decepticons got wind of our project, an' they're here ta take it. They can't get a hold of it! There's no _tellin'_ what kinda devastation they could cause!"

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Ratchet tried to grab for Wheeljack's arm when he yanked it back, but the mech was already on a roll, and the intern fell still when the words 'special project' came up. He listened with a growing horror to what his friend was telling him, almost wanting to refute him - to tell him that it had to be something else.

Because he couldn't comprehend that the Decepticons had destroyed the university and killed all of those innocent mechs... because _one teacher_ was working for the Autobots, and they hadn't even _told_ the _students doing the work_. He lifted a hand to his mouth as if it would somehow hold back all the things he wanted to say, staring at Wheeljack was a horrified mix of fear and anger. He jumped when the engineer grabbed his shoulders, and for a moment, all he could do was gape at the other student.

Then the words came. "Then let the Autobots handle it! They should've known about this! It's THEIR fault! THEIR responsibility! They dragged us into this - got all those mechs killed - _and we didn't even get the chance to have a say_!" He was shaking, hands clenched tightly into fists, and it was all he could do not to strike out at Wheeljack out of the desperate need to take it all out on _something_. "THEY'RE the soldiers, THEY'RE the ones fighting! Not you! Not me! I'm just a medic!" He wasn't a fighter; he wasn't built for combat... for killing. He was a- a doctor, and he was too scared to do this.

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"Nono_nononoNO__**NO!**_" Wheeljack sobbed, falling back again and curling, hands over his face.

He should have known; he should have _seen this_! Somehow! That special project, it was supposed to be his big break, his chance to get recognition as a serious scientist and not just "that crankcase" . . . and it had come to _this_!

But Ratchet's last comment broke something in Wheeljack. A clarity overcame him, and his hands dropped to his lap once more. He knew what he had to do. He didn't know _how _. . . but he had to.

He had to at least try. He owed that much to the hundreds of mechs whose futures, whose very lives, had been so suddenly and violently stolen from them, especially while he himself was still miraculously online.

"An' I'm just an engineer." His voice sounded flat and alien in his own audios. "But I'm just as much at fault as anyone. NO!" he cried, gaze snapping back up to Ratchet's before the intern could argue. "It is! Don't you see! _I'm_ the one that figured out the formulas! _I'm_ the one who made the theory _work_! Me! Me an' my glitchy, crank-cased way'a thinkin'! SLAGGIT!" He curled over again, punching the ground with his good hand. "I saw the signs! I wondered, but I was too selfish ta think of anythin' but the break this'd get me. I didn't question like I shoulda!"

He didn't move for several long astro-seconds, but then he was moving again before he could think too much on what he was about to try to do. He climbed to his feet, heavily favoring his right leg, and looked down at Ratchet. "Get under cover. Bury as far under all this rubble as ya can till the place clears again. If the Autobots aren't here soon, they should be. I'm sure they'll be takin' any survivors ta safety." He hesitated just an instant, then stooped to give Ratchet a quick hug. "Thanks for everythin', pal. Be safe." With that, he stepped back and, if Ratchet didn't manage to stop him, transformed and took off into the smoke.

* * *

Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	7. Down Into Darkness

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 7 – Down Into Darkness

_A friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else_. – Len Wein

Ratchet tried to talk over Wheeljack, to tell him that it _wasn't_ his fault because he hadn't _known _and who could have blamed him? But the engineer wasn't listening, and when he fell silent at last, Ratchet didn't have anything left to say. A part of him felt that he should being doing something to comfort his friend, but he didn't know what, and before he could come to any conclusions, Wheeljack was standing up.

"What are you-?" He was cut off by the hug, arms lifting halfway out of an instinct to return the contact but stopping when he realized what was happening. The damned, glitching fool was _going anyway,_and as afraid as Ratchet was of what was outside right now, he found that he was more afraid of not seeing Wheeljack alive again.

"Wait... WAIT!" He shoved off the wall and immediately into his alt mode, tearing off after the faint lights of his friend's speeding form.

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Wheeljack slowed enough for the other to catch up but didn't stop. "Ratchet! W-what're ya doin'? Ya realize where I'm headed, right? An' no, you're not talkin' me outta this!"

As much as he wished he could _let_ the medic do just that. He was terrified at the prospect of what he was about to (try to) do, but he didn't see any other way of it. He had to try to get into the building, and he knew a few unexpected ways. But he wasn't willing to lead another on this fool's errand. He knew full well that _if_ he survived . . . h-he'd probably wish he _hadn't_!

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"I didn't expect to!" Ratchet knew exactly where Wheeljack was going, and he knew it was going to take them both straight to the last place they should expect to get out of alive. If the Decepticons were here for that machine, then rationally they should be doing everything in their power to put as much distance between them and it as they could. But morally- well, maybe Wheeljack felt that specific compulsion, but Ratchet didn't think he'd be able to settle it with his own conscience if he buried his head and let another mech go to his death alone.

"But someone's gotta make sure you don't make any _more_ glitch-headed decisions once you get there!"

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Wheeljack's engine nearly stalled in pure shock. Ratchet . . . Ratchet intended _to go with him!_

His scanners told him the smoke was thinning, and the light filtering down to his optics was indeed getting brighter. Braking hard before he exited the clouds, he turned his front fender to face Ratchet's. "You don't gotta do this, ya know." He _had _to talk Ratchet out of this!

Well, now, wasn't _that _ironic.

"One mech's probably got a better chance'a gettin' in there than two anyway. An' have ya ever even been _in_ Engineerin'? It's a maze! B-besides - " His voice dropped. " - like ya said, you're a medic. They're gonna _need_ medics when all this is over."

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Ratchet slammed his brakes to keep from running 'face-first' into Wheeljack, skidding before coming to a stop as well. "What they're gonna need is a mech who knows how to build a matter/anti-matter converter," he pointed out, engine revving anxiously. He couldn't believe he was even having this conversation, but maybe it was just a way to make themselves feel braver.

"Look, let's just do this before one of us changes our mind. You lead. I'll watch your back."

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Wheeljack skidded back on his anti-grav about a meter, also to keep from getting rammed by accident. He regarded Ratchet for a long moment, engine idling with an erratic sound from his fear. Finally, he nosed forward, touching his bumper to his friend's, his voice low and grateful. "Thanks, Ratch." If they made it out of this alive - and free! - he was going to owe the mech _so much_!

Backing a bit, he got himself turned around. "Got a couple'a ideas. Converter's actually in a basement lab, kinda hidden. There's subterranean access through some old maintenance tunnels. Nearest hatch . . . is . . . " He took a moment to orient himself, edging closer to the outer reaches of the smoke screening them. He pushed his scanners to the fullest to try to locate familiar landmarks and orient himself. "Okay, should be only about thirty'r forty meters from here, an' I'm not pickin' up any movement out there. C'mon!" With that, he took off - fast but making sure Ratchet could keep up.

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Ratchet made a vague sound of acknowledgment at the nudge of bumpers. He still wasn't happy about this, but he was committed now, and that was that. They were going to do this, threat to life and limb be damned.

He kept close to the other mech as he crept up to the edge of the dust, ready to bolt the moment he did and quietly taking his own scans. No immediate life signs and the faint hits he was getting were either too far away to be trouble or . . . well, either way he couldn't do anything about it. Wheeljack's shout kicked him into gear, and he took off after him. This was it.

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Mercifully, Primus seemed to be watching over them. The way was clear as the pair bolted for a recess by the end of another building. Wheeljack reached it and transformed. He had micro-tools build into the tips of some of his fingers, and he used these to loosen the nuts holding a grate down. With one arm wounded like it was, he didn't have the strength to break the frozen grate free of its light seal of rust.

Ratchet helped with the grate where he could, and when it refused to budge, he nudged Wheeljack out of the way. "I've got a technique for these kinds of problems," he explained, and then proceeded to give the fused hinges several hard, angry kicks with his heel. It cracked the rust off, and the door opened up.

Wheeljack watched Ratchet kick viciously at the grate, just able to make out the dust of brown corrosion that fell free down into the darkness. "Heh . . . remind me not ta frag you off."

Ratchet helped Wheeljack down. It was black as pitch and the air stank down here, fume-filled from old chemicals, moisture, and corrosion. Distant drips of fluid broke the silence in a steady staccato. Wheeljack began making his way along the tunnel, a mini-flashlight in one finger lighting the ground at their feet. He was limping, though, leaning on the wall as he went.

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Ratchet honestly had no idea that a subsystem like this had existed at all, much less below Engineering, but he supposed it made sense. The department produced more difficult-to-dispose-of waste than the others just by the nature of its existence. Between that thought and the smell, Ratchet wondered if he was going to have any paint left on his feet by the time they got out of here. He caught up to Wheeljack and kept close, not daring to flood the tunnel with his front lights or risk a flame, and this close, it was painfully obvious that the other mech wasn't going to get very far on his bad leg.

"Hey." Ratchet grabbed his arm, his grip one that wouldn't be easily shaken off. "You're gonna be dead weight on that leg if you have to run. Let me see it." _And don't argue_.

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Once below, now that Wheeljack was trying to walk on his wounded leg, he was realizing just how bad the injury was. It hurt like the Pit! But he braced himself and kept going without complaint . . . until Ratchet stopped him with a grip on his arm, just shy of the torn plating. He flinched in pain. "Ahn!" He paused and looked up, his vocal flanges lighting the tunnel around them as he spoke. "Ratch, we might not have _time_!" The argument was a nominal one, however, the engineer offering no real resistance.

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Ratchet's optics flickered in the sudden flashes of light from Wheeljack's flanges, compensating only sporadically. "Yeah, and when will we have time? Certainly not when you're trying to hobble around a squad of Decepticons, all looking for the same thing you are."

His expression sharpened, and he fixed the engineer with a look that quite clearly expressed that he was too tired to argue and how they didn't get themselves all the way down here just to have a three-legged race. "Sit down before I kick your leg out and make you."

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Wheeljack saw Ratchet's optics compensate for the flashes of his flanges. "S-sorry..." he murmured, hands coming up reflexively to cover them. At the last, he studied the medic for an astro-second before snickering softly, his own exhaustion making the comment and its accompanying mental image funnier than they really were. "Ya would, too, wouldn't ya?"

Wheeljack was, by far, no stranger to pain. Not that he ever welcomed or went looking for it. But the nature of his work included accidents, and those accidents very often resulted in injuries. Smelt, it was why Ratchet knew him by face and name going into all this! The engineer had learned to cope and compensate. Still, the medic had a point. Even if he would have still been willing to chance it for himself, his being slowed down might endanger Ratchet too. Nodding wearily, he tried not to outright slide down the wall where his metal plating would grate and echo and give away their location to anyone else who might be down here.

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Yes. Yes, he would. Don't think for a minute that Ratchet wouldn't toe Wheeljack right in his bad leg just to drop him. "I promise to make it quick," he said, already retrieving the tools even before the engineer had shuffled himself to the ground.

It wasn't so much a matter of pain that Ratchet was worried about. It was obvious by now that Wheeljack could deal with that. The problem was that, no matter how much he ignored what happened to his leg, it was still physically limiting him. He didn't want the other mech gunned down just because he couldn't maneuver himself behind cover in time.

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Wheeljack was watching Ratchet, the glow of their optics bright enough to see each other at least a little. Ratchet looked exceedingly exhausted, even more so than he was. Then he remembered that Ratchet hadn't fueled in . . . how many joors now?

He reached into the subspace compartment on his hip and pulled out a handful of small, green-glowing cubes. "Hey, Ratch. Here. Sorry I didn't think'a these sooner. I...kinda forgot about 'em till just now."

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Ratchet started working immediately, propping Wheeljack's damaged leg across his knees and deftly working to clean the wound enough to make patching not completely improbable. It probably wasn't very comfortable, but any twitching was put to rest when he locked Wheeljack's ankle under his arm and kept right on working. He stopped only when he heard the other's voice; offering him something. Oh- _snacks_. He almost snatched them straight out of Wheeljack's hand, both his tanks and the warnings still prodding for his attention, protesting the restraint that he'd managed to dredge up from _somewhere_.

"...Hold on to those for a klik." He looked back down and, with a grunt, clipped off the last piece of protruding plating. With the wound even, it was just an easy matter of patching it up- covering and protecting the exposed mechanics underneath.

Only when he was done did he let go of Wheeljack's leg and let his attention snap back to the little energon snacks. He accepted half of them, shoving the rest back at the engineer. "Thank you, but we're both gonna need all we can get."

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Wheeljack held as still as he could make himself . . . and apologized softly, his voice strained, when the medic was _still_ forced to trap his leg. Part of his pulling the cubes out too was to give himself something else to focus on, something to do, even if only for an astro-second or three.

He had to _make_ himself not clench his fist around the cubes, balancing them on his other leg to keep from setting them on the nasty ground either. He grinned softly to himself when Ratchet took...well, half. He shook his head, both hands wrapping around the medic's to close it around the other half. "I got a pretty good idea how long medical intern shifts are. I've fueled _way_ more recently'n you have, an' I got some more of these. Finish 'em off. You _need_ 'em."

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Ratchet didn't hold it against Wheeljack. This type of thing hurt, and it wasn't the first time he'd had to hold a limb down. At least the engineer wasn't being combative; those were always fun. He did give his friend a long, hard stare when the rest of the energon was forced into his hand. Did he really have more or was he just saying that to make Ratchet take what he did have? Was he bluffing? His medical training dictated that the patient always came first, and he probably had enough backups to keep from offlining before they were out of danger-

_Oh, slag it_. "Thank you..." and he meant it, downing the entire handful in one go. It got the warnings to stop, at least. He stood up then and offered his hand out. "Back to business, fearless leader."

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Wheeljack watched his friend debate and started to comment - yes, he _would_ argue the point on this one if he had to - but then Ratchet finally just accepted them. "Don't mention it. An' no, I wasn't lyin'." It was the only reason he could think of for Ratchet's hesitation, that he was only saying as much for the medic's benefit and robbing himself. "I'd'a slipped inta involuntary stasis can't _tell _ya how many times if I had ta rely on rememberin' ta take a break when the cafeteria was actually open."

He accepted the hand up with a mock-frown in his tone. "Wow, there are so many things wrong with that comment." He shook his head, then tested his weight on his patched leg. It still hurt, but he was more easily maneuverable. "Thanks, Ratchet."

He let his fingers brush softly over the ragged edges of the wound in his arm, inspecting it for the first time. Pain still sparked at him from the shorn sensors threaded through the layers of metal. The wound wasn't as deep, though, and he could still use his arm well enough. He pulled a deep cycle of air through dust-clogged filters and turned his attention once more to the way they'd been heading. "This way."

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Ratchet considered Wheeljack's arm as the engineer did- he'd been trying to work with it earlier, but that was before he knew that they were going to be doing this; before he knew why the Decepticons were here. And in a way, Wheeljack was right: they didn't have time now. Not the kind that they needed anyway. "Don't pick at it," he muttered, feeling dimly that he _should_ do something about it but knowing that, for now, it would have to keep.


	8. War Games

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 8 – War Games

_A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked_. – Bernard Meltzer

Wheeljack talked as they walked, his voice a whisper and the flanges flickering only dimly because of it. Talking helped keep his nervousness down, at least for now. "Not a lotta people seem ta know about these tunnels, 'cept some'a the Engineerin' students. Well, an' the faculty, I'm sure, but... Some kinda secret rite of First-Vorns is hazin' by havin' ta 'survive' a trip through the 'labyrinth', as it's called, a section'a the tunnels under the PhysSci buildin'. Materials an' random debris're left around for the newbies ta make weapons or defenses outta, an' older students lay in wait ta ambush 'em." _K-kinda like now, only for real!_He decided that didn't need to be voiced. "Points for creativity as well as how long ya last. I lasted almost two joors." There was no small amount of pride at that. "Anyway, after that, I decided ta do some explorin'. These tunnels go all over under campus! That's the Theater an' Performin' Arts buildin' above us now. We'll pass under Medical an' then ta PhysSci. If they haven't already found an' moved it, I'm pretty sure I can find the vent that'll bring us up closest ta the lab it's in."

He paused - verbally, anyway; he was still walking - and looked up at Ratchet, optics glowing softly in the blackness. "You'd be safe if ya stayed down here. I could give ya a map through the tunnels to an access hatch near the edge'a campus." For as even as he was keeping his voice, he was still pretty terrified if he let himself think too far ahead, and it really was a comfort to not be alone, to have someone with him . . . but he'd not be selfish. He had to give Ratchet at least one more chance.

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Ratchet followed next to Wheeljack as much as the tunnel would allow, letting the sound of his voice take some of the edge off the atmosphere. It was strange, listening to talk about hazings and student pranks - his own department was notorious for their own, but they usually involved creative drug cocktails instead of junkyard weaponry - when there was a real war going on just above them. Still, to hear him talk about it, to listen to him preen about how long he had lasted, there was an odd sort of comfort in that. They could remember these things, and if their luck held out, they'd still be around to remember them again later.

When Wheeljack addressed him, giving him some kind of 'last out', Ratchet looked back at the smaller mech and jabbed one red finger at his face. "Don't." Point made, the finger retreated. "I'm in this with you, so save your map; we'll be going that way together."

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Wheeljack flinched back at the finger, and his gaze dropped at the last - he really held no illusions that he'd be using his map, expecting to be either captured or offlined for this . . . and he really, _really_ didn't want to see Ratchet suffer the same. But he could tell there was no point arguing with the mech, nor could he find it in himself to try. _'I'm in this with you . . . we'll be going that way together.'_ The words were too much of a comfort to refute.

"Thanks, Ratch." His voice was soft with deeply sincere relief, his fear creeping into his tone again, and he struggled to shove it back down once more.

The engineer continued on for a few minutes, but the black silence proved too much, and he started talking again, rambling to no small extent as he told the medic about the devices he'd come up with during his own hazing, how they'd helped him last, what some of the others had done. There were particular alcoves that were blind spots in the tunnels, perfect for ambush, plus the engineer had laid a number of traps to great effect. He wondered aloud to himself if there would be any left-behind materials once they got into the "labyrinth" section, half-forgetting that he wasn't alone. His voice dropped further into soft muttering to himself as he started to work out some ideas for things that might be of use to them if only he could find the right components.

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There was a part of Ratchet that had to wonder if talking about all the little hidden places, ambush spots, and other such hazards was a really good idea in this situation, but he didn't say anything about it. The talk seemed to be doing a decent job of keeping Wheeljack from stewing on what was happening around them, and he couldn't help but be a little envious.

The simmering concern kept him quiet for most of the walk, speaking only to voice questions about whatever Wheeljack happened to be talking about when they managed to scrape their way to the forefront of his attention. The rest of the time he was concentrating more on trying to remember their path, where they were under the campus, and trying to ignore the sounds coming from it. He was still listening peripherally when Wheeljack started in on his ideas, pulling Ratchet's focus back to him.

"...You really think you could build something?"

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Wheeljack didn't answer _right _away, but his mind had learned to manage a sort of rewind/replay reflex that passed things back by him because he'd missed and had to be asked things a second, even third time in the past . . . sometimes violently.

He paused in his murmuring a few astro-seconds later, glancing up at Ratchet. "Hm? Well, sure, why not? I mean, assumin' the materials're down here, an' I can't see why _not_. Scrap's left down here all the time! Only thing I'm _really _worried about findin' is-"

The tunnels had changed appearance subtly over the past two dozen meters. There were more chemical stains on the walls amid scarring and scoring of low-powered projectiles and flashes of fire and plasma residue. The ground was littered here and there with deca-vorns of detritus: spilled boxes of screws and bolts, lengths of rebar, compressed-air tanks both full and spent, springs and I-beams and spools of cabling.

"-the right size'a pipe!" Wheeljack finished with a note of triumph as he angled their progress to one side, to a pile of metal tubes of different lengths and diameters. He scooped up a handful of discarded bolts as he approached the pile, then used them to choose an appropriate diameter. "Hmn. Yeah, this should do. Can get two good barrels outta this, too! Okay, Ratch, help me find some stuff, will ya?"

With that, he detailed a list of materials with general dimensions, and the two set about finding the items, never getting out of each other's sight, and preferably not more than a few meters regardless.

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There seemed to be some diffuse lighting filtering in from somewhere now that the tunnels were opening up, making it easier to see, and Ratchet found himself distracted by what he could see now. The debris and scarring littering the area was unsettling, but these were the places Wheeljack knew, and if the engineer was comfortable here, then Ratchet would trust that he knew what he was doing.

Hearing his name snapped the medic back to focus, nodding to Wheeljack and hurrying off after him. He found what he could, following his friend's instructions and trying not to think too hard about what in the Pit the other mech was planning to cobble together. He was also trying even harder not to think about what the failure rate was for Wheeljack's inventions. He didn't see him in the med-bay _too_ often... did he have a low rate of creation with a high rate of failure or the other way around? Ugh, no, don't worry about it. What was the worst that could happen? They'd get slagged? Primus, the Decepticons were ready to do that anyway. Oh well, in that case, there was no harm in asking then.

"What's all this supposed to be?"

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Wheeljack dropped to his knees like he had been back in the supply closet, murmuring faintly to himself as he worked out schematics on the fly and started measuring and cutting with the handful of onboard tools he had. He was halfway through construction of the first device when Ratchet finally spoke up, garnering his attention . . . though the engineer's return comment wasn't actually an answer. "Hey, Ratch, you've got extra cryo-spray cartridges, right? I think I saw ya grab a couple extras back in that supply closet? Gimme two'a those, will ya?"

Once he had those and got one secured to the half-finished project, his mind finally registered that he'd been asked a question. "Bolt gun. Um...sorta. See, the cartridge's our propulsion, like the compressed air tank of a paint-pellet gun, but it'll _also_ flash-freeze the bolts so they'll be stronger an' hopefully do a little more damage. Plus the cryo-spray's kinda almost like a fine foam so it's actually _quieter_'n compressed air. Well, usually. Though I kinda figure if we wind up actually havin' ta _use_ these things, it means we've already been spotted, so bein' quiet's not necessarily the most important. I don't have time ta calibrate these things - not sure if I could anyway with what I've got here - but they should be reasonably accurate."

He fell silent for several kliks as he finished the work, then sat back with the makeshift gun in both hands, picked a target on the wall down the hall a ways from them, and fired. The frozen bolt embedded into the wall a little left of the intended target. Wheeljack adjusted his aim and fired again, this time hitting successfully. He nodded and turned to offer the contraption to Ratchet. "Aim about that far ta the right'a what you're lookin' ta hit." He indicated the distance with a space between his fingers. "This acts as your trigger - squeeze an' release pretty quick, just long enough ta fire the bolt. Any more'n that an' you're just wastin' cryo-spray inta the barrel. Got it?"

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Ratchet was willing to be patient with Wheeljack, giving him the extra canisters when he asked. He was going to be patient because he would much rather his question went unanswered in favor of letting Wheeljack concentrate on what he was doing instead of being pushy and distracting him; Source knew that he would have expected the same in a similar situation. When he got his answer, however, he had to admit: he was impressed. Something as simple but effective wouldn't have occurred to him, but then... that was why Wheeljack seemed to be so good at what he did. Accidents aside.

He remained standing while the engineer finished working, not trusting himself to have the will to get up if he sat down, and took the weapon when it was offered out. "Got it," he said, looking the gun over. Holding a weapon still twisted his tanks in uncomfortable ways... but it was shoot or be shot now, wasn't it? They both had the damage to attest to that.

"Let's just hope we don't have to u-" He was abruptly cut off by the unexpected press of a rifle muzzle to the back of his helm. The fear was becoming familiar by now, that spark-clenching chill of termination that he'd already felt too many times today. And for as exhausted and overwhelmed as he was, the only thing he could think to do was utter a low, plaintive, "not again."


	9. Mercy

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 9 – Mercy

_Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow_. – The Bible: Ecclesiastes

As soon as Wheeljack was sure Ratchet had the . . . device - he had a hard time thinking of it as a "weapon", at least not in the conventional sense, not in the "real" sense that it was now as opposed to a tool to get through an ultimately harmless hazing . . . as soon as he had handed over his creation to the medic, he dropped back down to get to work on its twin. Now that he'd built one and it was successful, the work on the second would only take a fraction of the time.

The engineer was in his element, and it had allowed him to all but forget the real danger they were in.

"Hope we don't hafta . . . ?" he prompted absently, without looking up, when Ratchet didn't finish his thought. He was just completing the second gun when the medic's low, exhausted whine made him look over his shoulder. In the dim, diffuse light of the tunnel, the silhouette visible over Ratchet's shoulder - looming head and shoulders taller than the medic, with ominous ruby optics in a dark, scowling face - killed any question the engineer might have had before he could process it enough to ask. A soft, strangled squeak emitted from his vocalizer instead.

"You - " The Decepticon pushed the rifle muzzle a little harder against Ratchet's helm to clarify whom he was addressing. " - don't move. And you . . . stand up and turn around. Slowly."

Wheeljack's optics were bright with fear as he moved to obey. Almost belatedly, he remembered his gun . . . and his wounded right arm. It still _burned_ with the pain of broken and fried sensors, but it was functional. The Decepticon, however, couldn't know that. Wheeljack was primarily right-handed anyway and the gun was already in that hand, so he exaggerated the injury, letting his arm hang limp and subtly curling his hand. Cradled in his palm, the gun stood up against - and largely behind - his forearm as he carefully pushed to his feet, clutching the wound with his other hand to further emphasize it and hide the weapon.

"That's it, Neutral. Nice and slow and maybe you won't wind up with more holes in you, either of you."

"H-heh, look, y-you don't wanna do this." Wheeljack had no idea what he was saying, nor did he really care. He couldn't help the glances at Ratchet, half checking on him and half . . . unintentionally asking for help, even as he _knew_ there really wasn't anything the medic could do, or anyway not without getting his helm vented and his processor violently disassembled. No, it was up to the engineer to take care of this, or at the very least distract the mech. He started inching around to one side where he could get a clearer shot at their captor. "L-like you said, we're Neutrals. We don't...we don't really want- I-I mean, we're not a threat ta you guys or anythin', right? We're not even _armed_, for sparks' sake! W-what could we do ta a big military mech like-"

"Shut up! And quit moving or I shoot you _second_." The soldier jabbed the rifle against Ratchet's head again.

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Ratchet took the repeated prodding to his helm with as much grace as he could manage, his hands clutching his weapon lamely and optics fixed desperately on Wheeljack. He was starting to get sick of the idea of heroics by now, but even for how much he wanted his friend to just go along with the Decepticon and not do anything stupid, he still couldn't completely quash the hope that he _wouldn't_. From the returned look Wheeljack was giving him, he got the impression that the engineer was hoping for the same thing. Lot of good either of those wishes would do them in this situation.

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"Well, s'long as you're not pointin' that thing at me _now_, right?" Wheeljack flinched inwardly at his own words. Primus, what in the Pit was he _saying_!

Frankly . . . anything to keep the soldier distracted long enough without making him _actually _fire. He'd just about gotten himself maneuvered, after all.

"Me, on the other hand - " The engineer threw himself against the opposite wall, clearing the last of the space he needed to take a shot that didn't risk hitting Ratchet by accident . . . unless the device was just that badly calibrated, and he realized too late he'd not test-fired it yet! All he could do now was pray. He fired.

The Decepticon's head snapped back as one ruby optic went dark with a sharp crack of thick plexiglass breaking and a spray of sparks from the components behind. The soldier fell back a step with a roar of pain, and Wheeljack nearly dropped his weapon in terror.

H-he'd done it again. He'd actually done it _again_ - shot another mech. This time on _purpose_! He thought he was going to be sick, and he reached for Ratchet in a half-sparked attempt either to pull him to safety or to just cling and cry. In that astro-second, he couldn't have said which.

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Ratchet just stood silently, unable to do anything else with a weapon pressed so emphatically against his head that he could feel the cables in his neck straining. Right up until the moment when Wheeljack pointed out just where that weapon wasn't, and the comment slapped Ratchet hard in the face. "_What_?" A part of him knew that he couldn't have meant that, but the knee-jerk reaction flew out of his mouth before he could stop it, stunned optics fixing widely on Wheeljack.

Behind him, the Decepticon took his attention off the engineer to snap at Ratchet's outburst, the diversion just long enough for the other mech to throw himself into position. The Decepticon jerked his head back around just in time to have his optic shattered, and his scream clicked something within Ratchet's emergency systems. _Shoot or be shot, right? _He whirled around, not even thinking about what he was doing and only dimly aware of Wheeljack's hands reaching for him.

His own scream was more a battle cry, wrenched up from somewhere he wasn't even sure he really had, and he ignored the weapon in his hand in favor of his fist. It was significantly more satisfying, his knuckles crunching into the Decepticon's other optic and cracking the lens. "Slag sparked glitch of a drone!" he shouted even as Wheeljack's hands made contact with him, and then he was grabbing back in equal panic, stumbling backwards, refusing to take his eyes off the blind Decepticon that he'd just dropped, now thrashing on the ground.

"Frag the lot of you!" There was static in his words, straining with fear and anger and the urge to let it all out in another scream. But he shoved it back, clutching tight to Wheeljack instead and half pulling, half letting himself be pulled further down the tunnels. "FRAG YOU!"

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Wheeljack had managed to _not_flinch at Ratchet's reaction to his comment, though he certainly felt horrible enough for having said it at all. Then he maneuvered, and shot, the Decepticon screamed . . . and Ratchet screamed. It was terrible.

_R-remind me not ta frag you off!_

He'd made the comment to Ratchet once before already, but it'd been almost flippant. The thought this time was far more serious. He gaped at Ratchet as he was grabbed in turn. "Frag the lot of you!" Ratchet snarled, and the engineer couldn't tell if he'd been included in that. But the frightened, furious medic was clinging to him as hard as he was clinging back. Ratchet didn't just leave him, and he held to that with what resolve he had left.

The pair fled down the tunnel but didn't get far before Wheeljack started dragging his feet a little, tugging on the medic's grip on him without any real strength or resolve behind it, suddenly half afraid the medic would turn on _him_ next for what he'd said. T-that was how it worked, wasn't it? _He_ would never, but- "I-I'm sorry! Ratchet, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinkin'! Just talkin', just tryin' ta keep him busy an' distracted! I wasn't thinkin' about what I was sayin', an' I didn't mean it! You know I didn't mean that, right? Promise I didn't! I'm sorry!"

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Just when Ratchet was sure that he'd used up all his fear - all his anger - something else had happened and some other untapped well of emotion had been discovered and wrenched up. It was impossible to shake until it had run its course, and the fury that had sent his fist into the Decepticon's face was still racing through his systems when Wheeljack started tugging on him.

It was like some kind of infuriating, glitching data file, repeating over and over in his head - all of this - and it was easier to pretend he wasn't so angry when he had a gun against his head and fear overriding anything else; when his hand wasn't aching and covered in fluids. He didn't want to think about it, and Wheeljack's voice was crawling into his head, scattering the thoughts he was trying to collect. He tried to tell the engineer to stop- to be quiet- to just- he swatted at the other mech's grabbing hands, an inarticulate sound leaving him before he finally just gave in.

"It's all right, I know," he said as he hugged Wheeljack and held on, hands clinging to his back and holding tight. "It's- It's gonna be okay. I'm sorry too."

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Having gotten into the tunnels, hidden and in familiar territory where the sights and sounds of horrific reality had not been so immediate, Wheeljack had actually managed to lose sight of what was really going on. He'd let himself be lost in the false security of the tunnels, lulled into a sense of safety by being on 'home turf'. But now . . .

Now the terrible reality of their situation had come crashing back down on him, driving him momentarily mindless with terror. He'd seldom been so frightened in his life . . . and the one person, the one security, he felt he had left was swatting at him. A sob escaped his modulator at the noise the medic made, and he let go, stepping back and bracing. He knew how this went. He knew _all too well_ how this kind of thing went, what happened when he said or did the wrong thing. Ratchet grabbed him again, and he squeaked in pleading fright but didn't dare resist, just stood curled in and trembling. It took a moment for the medic's words to slip past the haze of exhaustion, fear, and defense.

Ratchet wasn't going to hurt him, wasn't going to abandon or punish him, pay him back for what he'd done or said. He sobbed again, this time in relief as much as anything, and clung back with his face pressed to the windshield of the other's chest. He was still shaking - hard. Exhaust fans sputtered and whined with the fluctuations of power through his systems, and he was babbling again before he knew it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't want 'im ta hurt you, I just needed ta keep talkin' so he didn't...d-didn't...y-you're okay, though, right? H-he didn't hurt you? You're okay?" He finally pulled back enough to look up at the other mech, trying to see for himself.

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They were both reaching the end of their already frayed cables, dangling precariously on that edge between sanity and a complete processor meltdown. So Ratchet really couldn't blame Wheeljack for being a mess, and he let the engineer get some of it out of his system, telling himself that he needed to be the strong one this time. It didn't stop his own intakes from their unsteady wheezing or his hands from shaking, but the little resolve he had left let him grip Wheeljack firmly and remain standing when he wanted to curl up with his friend and sob with him.

"I know. I know you didn't mean it. It's okay," he tried to assure the younger mech around his choppy explanation. When he pulled back, Ratchet offered him a weak smile, his hands gripping Wheeljack's shoulders. "_I'm_ okay. I think you saved us both back there... you and your invention. Thanks." It was worth saying because it looked like Wheeljack needed to hear it. ...And it did feel good to say; just something else to make them feel brave again.

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A soft, uncertain trill buzzed from Wheeljack's modulator as his gaze dropped to the contraption still gripped in one hand. "I-I was aimin' for his _shoulder_." The confession came out soft and thin, the tone unable to decide if it was wry amusement or a plaintive whine.

He rested his head against the other's chest again for a moment, struggling in vain to even out the harsh cycling of air through his clogged exhausts, his substructure running too hot to be comfortable. Shuddering, he passed his free hand over his face, taking comfort from the contact with his friend and calming by degrees. Finally, some of the tension left his shoulders, and he drew one more, deep cycle of air before straightening again. "S-sorry . . . " The apology this time was much quieter, calmer, and might have been a continuation of his earlier babbling or for having broken down like that at all.

He looked up at Ratchet, brushed a hand down his arm as a sort of thank-you - he wasn't so sure he really trusted his voice just yet - then turned, picked a spot on the far wall, and fired. Noted the difference, fiddled with the barrel of his gun - including smacking it across the palm of his hand by way of making an adjustment - fired a second time, adjusted his aim slightly, fired again . . . and nodded.

He looked down the tunnel in the direction they'd been heading originally, unable to meet Ratchet's gaze. His voice was flatter than he liked when he spoke. "We . . . w-we better get movin'."


	10. End of the Line

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 10 – End of the Line

_If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember: You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think, but the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you_. – A. A. Milne

Ratchet really didn't know what else to say that hadn't already been said, so he remained silent as Wheeljack finished pulling himself together. Maybe it was enough that they could lean on each other like this anyway. The touch against his arm got a small nod in return, the unspoken gratitude understood and returned. One way or the other, they were going to be dragging each other through this mess.

"Yeah," he said, finding his voice again at Wheeljack's prompting after the engineer had finished 'calibrating' his weapon. If that didn't speak volumes for the situation they were in, he didn't know what did. "We came down here for a reason, right? You know the way." He gestured down the tunnel, prompting Wheeljack to lead on, and would quickly fall into step beside him once they were moving.

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At the comments, Wheeljack did finally look back up at Ratchet, and a number of thoughts passed through his mind.

_I'm sorry._ Sorry for getting the medic into this mess, sorry he'd been injured, and threatened several times now. _You don't gotta do this._ He'd already been rebuffed twice for trying to talk Ratchet into heading to safety, and as much as he didn't want to see a gun to the medic's head - _again_- he couldn't bring himself to try a third time. "Thank you." He realized belatedly that he spoke that one aloud. After only an instant's hesitation, he plowed on with the rest of the thought. "F-for . . . for not leavin' me back there . . . an' for comin' with me at all. I-I'm sorry you're caught in this too, but . . . thank you."

He stepped in, giving Ratchet one more quick hug, then turned and forced himself to start walking before he lost all nerve again. He added the light of his mini finger flashlight to the dim illumination of flickering service lamps. "It's . . . it's not far now - 'bout a deca-meter up, hang a left, an' fourth ladder on the right. Brings us up in the back of a supply room, through a drain." After that, he fell silent, no longer able to take comfort in words.

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Ratchet really didn't know what to say when Wheeljack thanked him. What did the other mech think he was going to do? Just leave him? What else was there _to_ do other than stick together? Better to take the risks, and if they died, at least they'd know that they died trying to do something instead of shot in the back of the head, cowering like protoforms. And Ratchet liked to think he was made of sterner stuff than to leave a good mech behind for the sake of his own plating. So really, what was there to say? 'You're welcome' didn't seem exactly right, so he put the sentiment into the hug he gave Wheeljack back. It was brief but strong. They had each other; he wasn't going to leave his friend behind.

He walked in silence, taking in what Wheeljack had to say and trying to visualize where they were under the campus. It wasn't a very successful attempt, but it kept his mind occupied at least. When they reached the ladder, he held out a hand to stop the other mech. "I'll check it out. Stay here." Heading off any possible protests, he gripped the ladder and started up. If there was a problem, better for Wheeljack to be able to escape since he was the one who knew where to go, what to do.

Thankfully, the drain cover popped up easier than the one they'd come in through, and Ratchet peered out over the lip of the opening. Empty. Maybe Primus was watching out for them after all. He gestured for Wheeljack to come up and levered himself up into the storage room.

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Wheeljack started to protest, but Ratchet's action cut him off, and besides, he didn't want to make too much noise in case there _was_ someone up there who'd hear. He waited, tense and subconsciously praying to Primus . . . if for no other reason than that he really, _really_ didn't want to see Ratchet captured and threatened again.

The medic gestured and the engineer climbed up after him as quietly as he could manage. He shifted around the other and took the lead once more, lighting their way across the room with his finger-light. At the door, the way was clear, and they moved on. Suddenly, Wheeljack wished he'd thought to ask for Ratchet's link-code so they could communicate directly and silently – mind-to-mind, as it were – but it wasn't something one asked for lightly, nor from a stranger, and the medic _was_ technically still that, in reality. Well, they'd just have to communicate audibly or through gestures.

Down the hall Wheeljack went, pausing when he came around a corner to spot a familiar mech near the door he was headed for, facing the other way. The graduate engineer was far from a friend – in fact, under normal circumstances, Wheeljack would have been nervous at _best_ in the other's presence – but these were unusual circumstances, and he felt an odd measure of relief in spite of himself to see a known mech.

He remembered himself enough to keep his voice down still, but he was speaking before he thought about it. "Skystalker? What're you doin' here? Didn't you graduate last semest-_ACK_!" A sudden hand grabbing one arm from behind and wrenching it up behind his back cut off the greeting, and he felt something round and hollow press the side of his head just behind one vocal flange.

Skystalker turned slowly, a cold smirk on his faceplates, and Wheeljack's optics brightened at the sight of the darker purple, Decepticon brand on his mid-purple chest, his optics a bright ruby in hue. "P-primus," Wheeljack murmured, his voice thin and horrified. What happened after that, the engineer could never later quite figure out _how _it came about, what reservoir of either courage or stupidity it sprang from.

"Code of a glitch!" His makeshift gun was in his uncaught hand, and he brought it up and fired at Skystalker, not taking the extra astro-second to actually aim. It was a distraction. "Ratchet, RUN!" He heard a spark-wrenching click and sacrificed his caught shoulder to throw his weight sideways, twisting and leaning his head in an attempt to keep it from getting blown open. The shot tore through the outer edge of his vocal flange, slagging the ultra-sensitive components inside and eliciting a shriek of agony from the engineer.

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The Decepticon holding Wheeljack, having stepped out from hiding in another room, gave Ratchet an ugly, warning glare.

Oh no. _Oh no no no_. Ratchet's arm froze where it was halfway lifted, ready to fire out of instinct at the Decepticon who'd taken hold of Wheeljack, but the gun to the engineer's head and the presence of Skystalker stopped him. Wide, panicked optics skittered attention between the three other mechs in the hallway; what was he supposed to do? Wheeljack had saved him twice now by acting on the spur of the moment, but when it seemed the situation called for Ratchet to do the same, he found himself frozen. _I'm sorry; I'm sorry... what_-

"Ratchet, RUN!"

The hiss-snap of Wheeljack's gun and his shout triggered the survival programming before Ratchet could even properly think about what he was doing. He bolted, turning down a hallway to only Primus knew where - slagging Engineering building! - and tried not to let his knees go out from under him when the sound of a rifle shot and Wheeljack's scream echoed off the walls. _SlagslagslagSLAG!_ He didn't have time to register that there was suddenly a Decepticon in front of him before the mech burst around another corner into his path of flight, and Ratchet slammed into the larger bot full force.

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Wheeljack's shot had caught Skystalker's upper arm but did little damage. With a growl, the Decepticon former engineering student closed the distance between the two. One hand grabbed and yanked the weapon from Wheeljack's grip; the other smashed across his face in a backhanded fist. The engineer tried to turn with the blow, but he was already at the limit of his movement, and the blow struck with terrible ferocity, leaving him reeling.

"_That_ is for blinding Gutcruncher back in the tunnels, you low-caste wannabe. And this - " He drove his other fist, the one now holding the makeshift gun, into the rifle dent of Wheeljack's chest, smashing the crude weapon into unusable trash and crushing his superstructure into his shoulder assembly. Wheeljack cried out in pain. " - is for that pathetic shot with . . . what the frag _is_this sorry thing, anyway?" He dropped the weapon in contempt, absently shaking cryo-spray compound from his hand. "Word of advice, Mr. Incompetent - never leave an enemy behind you alive."

_S-slag you, ya traitor_. Wheeljack didn't dare speak the words aloud, barely able to make himself even meet the other's optics. Skystalker was a brutal bully of a mech that he had already crossed too many times in the past – he had the scars to prove it! – and he had to swallow back on a whimper before it buzzed audibly from his modulator. Oh dear Primus, he was in _so_ much trouble!

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Instinct had Ratchet struggling immediately, even as he was yanked around, fingers scraping and feet kicking at the floor in pure, blind panic. The thrashing at least prevented the first Decepticon from being able to pull his weapon, but a second quickly joined in. Trying not to think about what was happening - about the rifle being drawn now - Ratchet let out his own cry and swung his legs up, bracing back against his captor and slamming his feet into the other Decepticon. He shoved off, levering himself and cracking the top of his helm into the underside of the first Decepticon's chin. The soldier loosened his grip in shock enough for Ratchet to jam a scalpel into his elbow, freeing the medic when the restraining arm went slack.

The second Decepticon, recovered from his sudden shove against the wall, was taking aim but so was Ratchet, and he took a note from Wheeljack himself, shooting for the mech's head. The bolt smacked into the Decepticon's faceplate, leaving little more than an impressive dent but distracting him enough for Ratchet to jam the barrel of the makeshift gun between the plating of his hip and upper leg. Wheeljack had said to go easy on the trigger, but Ratchet jammed it back, the bolt lodging into the joint and the excess cryo-spray turning the whole thing into a block of frozen components.

"Wheeljack!" _Oh Primus, please let him still be functional_. Ratchet spun around, his body moving to take him back down the hall the way he'd come, but the first Decepticon was already getting up behind him. The first kick, to the back of Ratchet's knee, had him crumpling to the floor with a cry, and the second sent him skidding down the hall and into the wall of the hallway he'd come from. He craned his head and saw Wheeljack and the other Decepticons, and he didn't bother to consider that maybe he shouldn't be fighting, only that he was scrambling to his feet, ignoring the pain and rushing to help his friend.

_"I'm just a medic!"_

_"An' I'm just an engineer."_

At some point between then and now, something about that had changed. They weren't 'just' anything anymore. Not after all this. Ratchet brought his weapon to bear on Skystalker, but the Decepticons behind him fired first. The first shot clipped Ratchet's shoulder but the other slammed into his back, sending the medic back to the ground spitting curses. Catching up, the first 'Con kicked the medic over onto his back and shoved a foot down against his chest, shattering the windshield.


	11. Pride and Pleading

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 11 – Pride and Pleading

_Only a life lived for others is worth living_. – Albert Einstein

Wheeljack cycled air in harsh, painful intakes, the right side of his mouthplates as well as the components behind cracked, creased, and knocked slightly out of alignment. He twisted his wrists experimentally in the binders they'd been locked into behind him, pulling back painfully on both shoulders – one wrenched, the other scraped at the slightest movement by crumpled superstructure plating. The rifle shot he'd taken in the garden that had shorn his arm open still burned like acid, and its twin in his patched leg ached terribly. The pain from the damage to his sensitive vocal flange was nearly blinding by itself and made speaking difficult, what with the energy that got passed into damaged relays when he did.

His spark had lurched when he glanced and saw that Ratchet was no longer at his side, but . . . no, it really was for the best. He didn't _want_ Ratchet here, didn't _want_ him captured, maybe killed, almost certainly hurt. _More_ hurt. And he _had_ told Ratchet to run.

_I never shoulda led 'im here. _Never_ shoulda let 'im argue with me, just made 'im take the map file an' get the slag outta dodge!_ Now he could only pray that Ratchet would somehow manage to escape. _Please, Primus, if you really exist..._It was too late for him – and the thought frightened him to no end – but he could at least reserve hope for the medic.

Then, even that last hope was crushed. His captor was just starting to drag on him to get him moving – where, he didn't dare contemplate – when he heard a familiar cry and a body hit the floor. Another strike and that body scraped down the hall to fetch into a wall by him. His optics flared in shock and dismay. "Ratchet!"

On reflex, he started to go to his friend, not even thinking in that instant about the fact that he was manacled and could do nothing. New spikes of pain flashed through his systems, causing a few to overload and his optics to flicker as they tried to reboot – his captor had caught his wounded arm, fingers deliberately curling into the wound for purchase and to get his attention. "Hold still!" the Decepticon snarled in his audio. Wheeljack's legs buckled at the new levels of pain, his captor forced to catch and support him.

Engineer and medic – their optics met for an instant as Ratchet visibly fought to regain his senses, and Wheeljack's spark shrank in his laser core. _W-we're not gonna make it. Primus have mercy, we're not gonna make it! Primus, please!_

Suddenly, Ratchet was scrambling to his feet and diving at Skystalker. The sharp cracks of rifle shots echoed off the walls, and the medic's body lurched unnaturally, black and hot pink fluid flying in a sickening spray. He went down a second time.

"No! Ratchet! RATCHET!" Wheeljack ignored the agony of his broken flange as he screamed his friend's name, the cries coming out in broken sobs, horrified and desperately denying that he'd just watched them offline the only person he had left. He tugged on his captor's grip, heedless of the fingers dug into his injury. The 'Con clung to him with ridiculous ease, his strength far greater than the wounded engineer's. Skystalker stepped up and backhanded him again with a warning to stop struggling _'or else'_. The younger engineer found himself suddenly terrified at finding out what "or else" was, and he obeyed, optics locked on Ratchet.

"Little nursebot thinks he's a soldier. Isn't that cute?" taunted the first Decepticon to round the corner from the way Ratchet had come. Smirking, he planted a foot onto – into – Ratchet's chest, and Wheeljack whimpered pitiably at the crunch of plexiglass.

The second Decepticon looked to Skystalker. "This all there is?"

Skystalker nodded dispassionately as Ratchet was determined still to be alive and hauled to his feet. "Gutcruncher only reported the two, and their descriptions fit these two." He turned an ugly smirk on Wheeljack again. "Don't know who your buddy is, 'Jack, but I recognized _you_ right away. You're kind of . . . distinctive, you know? Come back for one of your toys, did you? I always knew you were at least a little insane – 'Mad Jack' and all that – but never would have taken you for suicidal."

Wheeljack ignored the all-too-familiar jabs, attention on the soldiers holding Ratchet. "P-please . . . please, let 'im go. He hasn't done anythin'! If you're here for the converter, I-I can show ya where it is. Ratch doesn't have anythin' ta do with that. Please! Please, don't hurt 'im!"

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Ratchet was particularly aware that he had gone offline for a brief moment, the pain of being _shot in the back_ knocking his systems into a hard reboot. When he came to, he was flat on his back and his systems were struggling to operate under the weight bearing down on his chest. He pawed ineffectually at the foot that was doing a good job of digging shattered plexiglass into sensitive components, but the owner just ground his heel down painfully before removing it to haul the dazed medic to his feet.

His back felt like someone had dug a hole in his plating with a rusty trowel – probably because there _was_ a hole there now – and the pain was fogging up his head, but he still managed to situate his feet under himself and remain upright. Warnings scrolled across his vision: energy levels dropping, several vital systems compromised, redundant backups rushing to come online and stem the impending flood of emergency shutdowns. At least Skystalker seemed more interested in talking for the moment, giving Ratchet the time his auto repair system needed to take care of the most pressing matters.

He slouched limply in the Decepticon's grip, listening to the former student belittle Wheeljack and setting his jaw against the (futile) urge to do something about it. It was sickening to think that someone could aspire to the intellectual heights that this institution promised only to turn their back on all of it and fall in with arena scrap-stompers like the Decepticons.

At the sound of Wheeljack's voice, Ratchet lifted his head and fixed pale optics first on his friend, then on Skystalker, a wry, static-filled chuckle rattling around in his chest. Well, if _that_ wasn't ironic. "Little late for that, wouldn't you say?" he commented bitterly. He wasn't upset at Wheeljack – after all, it had been Ratchet's own decision to come along, and they'd both known that something like this was always a possibility. "But seeing as we're all going to the same place, don't see why we can't all go together." He was too tired, too hurt, and too sick of it all to bother trying to plead with mechs who were clearly devoid of anything resembling a spark. "It'll be a _party_." He spat a mouthful of energon at Skystalker's feet . . . and quietly redirected his ARS to the busted line providing it.

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"I-I . . . I'm sorry!" The pathetic apology – Wheeljack's voice was thin and pitched even in his own audios – came out as a reflexive response to Ratchet's first comment. The medic didn't mean that directed at him, and later he might realize that, but he was used to being blamed and berated for things, and besides, this time it _was _his fault, at least as far as he was concerned. He hadn't tried hard enough to protect his new friend, and now that friend was paying for it, and for his folly in coming here at all.

"SHUT UP!" Skystalker roared at the younger engineer, raising his hand again. Wheeljack gasped and cringed, several systems redlining with stress as he braced for the blow. The Decepticon snorted and let his hand fall, patting the side of Wheeljack's face in a mock-friendly manner. "Some of the boys had told me they'd been continuing your training. Looks like they've done pretty good. Might even make a good lab assistant out of you yet."

Translation: "lackey", "go-for" . . . if for Decepticons? "Slave".

_N-no . . . please no . . . _

Skystalker held his wide, frightened optics a moment longer, then turned his attention to Ratchet. His look was predatory and sure of his position. "And where you figure we're all going, eh, nursie-bot? The Great Pit? The End of Days?" He pulled a heavy blaster pistol and put it to the side of Ratchet's throat, angled up into the underside of his jaw. "Personally? I'm not planning to head there any time soon. But if you want to go on ahead of me and prepare me a place..." His optics narrowed as his gaze bore into Ratchet's. "You _really_ that ready to die, nursie-bot?"

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Despite his wounds, exhaustion, and current state of containment, Ratchet still had to struggle to remain silent in the face of Skystalker's treatment of Wheeljack. Beyond the urge to defend the mech he was calling friend now, the medic had long held a dislike for bullies, and Skystalker seemed to be doing everything in his power to earn the title down to the letter.

The returning spark of anger was enough to add some clarity of focus to Ratchet's thoughts. He stared back into the Decepticon's red optics, even as his head was wedged up by the barrel of the mech's weapon, refusing to let go of the last scraps of freedom and principle he had left. He'd never backed down to a bully before and he wasn't going to start now. Or at least, he was exhausted enough to fool himself into thinking so.

"Actually," he croaked, optics narrowing, "I was _figuring_ the converter we're all here for, but if you really want me to get a head start on letting Primus know what a stand-up mech you are, you're gonna need to angle your gun more to the right." Gallows humor, the older medics called it – something of an acquired taste among those who dealt with life and death on an academic level. Ratchet had taken to it with startling swiftness early on.

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_WHAT THE SMELT, YA IDIOT, DON'T __**PROVOKE**__ 'IM!_

Wheeljack didn't dare voice the mental cry aloud, though anyone looking at him could have read it well enough on his faceplaces, in the wide apertures of his optics.

"You've got guts, nursie-bot." Skystalker's voice purred with threat. "I'll give you that mu-" His head turned a bit just then, attention inverting as a hand went absently to the side of his helm. Wheeljack guessed he was receiving a private comm. Snapping back out of the very brief distraction, Skystalker studied Ratchet for a klik, then stepped back, put away his gun, and looked at Wheeljack. The younger engineer shrank back into his guard at the nasty smirk on his face. "I'd _heard_ you were on the team that built the converter. I knew you had potential, even for a dirt digger." His optics narrowed again, his tone low and dangerous. "Except apparently, it's not working – one of your teammates jacked it up. So now _you_ get to come with us, and you'd better be able to _fix_ that piece of slag, or I'll be introducing you to the nearest smelting pool _personally_." Wheeljack whimpered, cowering in spite of himself – _no no no no please no please no PLEASE!_– and Skystalker hesitated long enough apparently to enjoy the younger engineer's terror before turning on his heel and motioning for the guards to follow.

The one holding Ratchet spoke up just then. "Sir, what about this one?"

Skystalker gave the medic a contemptuous glance over his shoulder and shrugged. "Kill him." He continued walking, calling over his shoulder with a wave. "Give my regards to Primus, Nursie!"

"NO!" The condemnation of his friend galvanized Wheeljack into action again at last, overcoming his terror for himself to dare speak up; that was often how it worked for him. Once more, he was babbling without much consideration – and no care – for what he was saying. If he just kept talking, usually he managed to come up with something that'd work. "Y-you can't do that! He's important! I need him! I- . . . h-he's my lab assistant! I'll need him ta work on the converter!"

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There was an indomitable sense of pride that was keeping Ratchet from cowering under Skystalker's threats. It wasn't that he had any particular urge to irritate the Decepticon to the point of finality – just that he was fairly convinced that either way was going to end poorly so he might as well go out spitting in the other's optic. At least that provided some small sense of satisfaction.

He kept his optics fixed on Skystalker up until the point when he pulled away, allowing Ratchet's optics to meet Wheeljack's. He tried not to look as tired and hurt as he felt, but anything else that might have been conveyed was cut off when Skystalker finished whatever internal conversation he'd been holding.

_"Kill him."_

Panic flooded Ratchet's systems despite the defiance he'd been clinging to, and he wiggled desperately in his captor's grip, Wheeljack's sudden verbal flailing filtering in somewhere around everything else clamoring for attention in his processor. The Decepticon holding him gave him a sharp yank, rattling the medic enough to cease his squirming while the one 'Con still unoccupied looked between the two beat-up students.

"He's a _med-bot_," the soldier sneered, as if the idea that Wheeljack had somehow missed this fact was a great offense to the universe.

Emboldened by any chance to save his life, even as slim as it was, Ratchet immediately interjected. "Frag off, why else do you think I'd drag my skidplates all the way here if he didn't need my help?"

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"YES I KNOW HE'S A MED-BOT!" Even Wheeljack had his limits, but then he winced at his own snapping tone . . . and made himself plow on before he lost what nerve he'd managed to regain. "W-was a med-bot, that is. _Was_ a med-bot!" He also managed to keep from glancing at Ratchet in apology – if Ratchet could read it, the others could too, and would instantly know he was lying. If they couldn't tell already. "T-transferred over ta Engineerin' just this term. Guess they never got around ta the reformat, huh?" At this point, he _did_look over at Ratchet, a plea to play along hidden under the pretense of checking if he got it right.

Skystalker had paused in his walk and turned back, glaring impatiently. "Insane, suicidal . . . and apparently masochistic – " He closed the distance back to Wheeljack in just a few strides and clamped a hand on the slagged flange, squeezing and eliciting a strangled, sobbing cry as he used it to yank the younger engineer's head closer so he could growl in his face. " – because you must _really_like the punishment, 'Jack." He threw a nasty grin over at Ratchet. "How many times you have to patch this kid back up after my boys were done with him, huh?" He let go, shoving Wheeljack's head back into his captor's chest. "You know better than to lie to me, 'Jack. You really that stupid? Because you better not think I am."

"S-sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-" Wheeljack drew harsh, sobbing cycles of air as he tried to regather his senses and his courage. H-he did . . . he _did_know better . . . but if he didn't try now, they'd kill Ratchet! He'd learned since the first time he'd crossed the members of the elitist "Imagineering Club" that it was just best if he kept his vocalizer silent, did what they told him, let them do to him what they were going to, and got it over with. If he obeyed and didn't resist, they'd leave him alone for the most part. But now...

"O-okay . . . y-yeah, h-he's a medical intern - I'm sorry! - b-but . . . c-c'mon, Skystalker . . . " He couldn't make himself look the other in the optic as he spoke. "Y-you know my memory. I'd forget ta _recharge_if my power cells didn't threaten involuntary stasis on me! R-ratchet's got good memory banks. We met in the med-bay, hung out in the cafeteria, g-got ta talkin' . . . he remembers stuff I can never seem to! S-so he's...s-so he's got a lotta my notes on things, e-even if he doesn't necessarily get what I was talkin' about. He remembers a-an' I put the data ta use!" Finally, he dragged his gaze up to Skystalker's once more. "P-please..."

Skystalker glared down at the smaller mech, but then his gaze darted to the side a bit again for an instant. He refocused on Wheeljack . . . backhanded him one more time for good measure, then looked up to his guards. "They're here. We're out of time." He darted a glance at Ratchet, then turned again on his heel and stalked down the hall at an angry pace. "Bring them both. We'll sort this out later."

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For his part, Ratchet was looking particularly irritated and cranky which could be taken any way one wanted and didn't do much to hurt Wheeljack's story. He nodded sharply when the other mech looked at him for 'confirmation' but otherwise said or did little else, mostly because by then, Skystalker was back to harassing Wheeljack, and Ratchet had to keep his mouth shut or he'd be giving the Decepticon lip that would probably end up getting him killed after all.

He glared heatedly at Skystalker, jaw set and hands clenching from where they were twisted up behind his back. It was hard not to tell Wheeljack to quit apologizing to that glitch-ridden piece of scrap; he was the last mech anyone needed to be groveling to, especially someone like Wheeljack. It jabbed painfully at everything Ratchet had held to in his life, and it was all he could do to keep from snapping out about it.

Good mechs didn't beg; they didn't bow and scrape; they held their heads up and refused to be shoved down. If there was anything that Ratchet was getting out of this ordeal, it was that: the slow clarification that this was _not how it was supposed to be_.

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Wheeljack normally didn't beg. Or anyway, not aloud. Normally, he didn't have anyone worth begging _for_. Normally, it was just him, and he rarely begged for himself – not out of pride but because he knew it did no good. If anything, it usually made things worse, encouraged greater cruelty. But when it was another who was on the line, he _couldn't_ keep silent, no matter how futile. Even if it got him in more trouble than he already was, if he could take whatever would have otherwise been directed at another, at least _they_ didn't have to suffer too, or suffered less.

And he could take it, whatever it was. He didn't give himself a choice; he just took it. He managed. Somehow. That was how he always did things in life – he challenged himself, figured out how to make it work, and did it. _Somehow_. And if that meant allowing himself to be demeaned, berated, and abused now, it was just part of the price he had to pay to get where he knew he wanted to be.

Of course . . . that was all going out the window _now_, wasn't it? Now, it seemed as if his mind would only process a very limited vocabulary of concepts: 'Decepticons', 'cruel', 'evil', 'captured' . . .

'Slave'.

_N-no . . . no, please, no!_


	12. The 11th Hour

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 12 – The 11th Hour

_Are you upset, little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don't worry…I'm here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you_. – Charlie Brown to Snoopy (Charles M. Schulz)

Ratchet purposefully cut power to his own vocalizer and moved forward when the Decepticon holding him shoved at his shoulders. Walking hurt like the Pit, each step sending jolts of pain up and down his back struts, but he maintained his pace. ARS was working to dull the sensory arrays around the damaged sectors, but it wasn't instantaneous. At least they were being given some more time. They might not have bought Wheeljack's lie, but perhaps there was still a chance.

Eventually the Autobots would come . . . right?

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Wheeljack's optics dimmed nearly off, head bowing – he maintained only enough outer awareness to keep from tripping – as he and Ratchet were manhandled out of the maze that was the lower levels of the PsySci building and into a cargo bay. Up at ground level once more, the two could hear the distant sounds of combat, seeming as fierce as ever. Maybe more so. Had the Autobots arrived at last?

It seemed that they would never know as they were shoved into the hold of a small transporter along with a handful of other wounded, weary, and frightened student prisoners. Wheeljack dropped to the ground against a wall and curled up, withdrawing, his hands in tight fists behind him, face buried against his drawn-up knees.

Even if the Autobots _were_ here, it was too late for them – too late for him, his new friend, their fellow students, all of them . . . wasn't it?

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As they exited the building, Ratchet straightened as much as he was able, optics scanning the war zone around them. Was that the sound of return fire? Were the Decepticons fighting _against_ someone now? He was shoved along despite his efforts to spot something – anything – in the haze of smoke and cooked atmosphere.

"Hey, empty the med-bot's compartments first," he heard one of the Decepticons call from the entrance to the transporter, and he suddenly found his arms yanked around by a new set of hands.

"Stop- augh! Get your servos off me!" He yanked on his arms, but even if he hadn't been in an advanced state of energy depletion, he probably wouldn't have been able to do much against the larger mechs. He let out a wordless mix of pain and anger as the tool compartments in his forearms were either wedged or bashed open, the components inside ripped out and thrown to the ground. Fraggit, those were expensive and delicate instruments!

A pair of stasis cuffs was strapped around his wrists then – manacles that prevented access to subspace as well as physically binding a prisoner – and he was shoved inside with everyone else. Everyone inside the transport looked like roborats that had been through the grinder one too many times, but at least they were alive. He recognized a face or two but no one from Medical. They all looked equally as downtrodden.

Cycling a slow intake of air through his vents, Ratchet turned away and moved over next to Wheeljack, carefully easing himself down to the floor at his side. Behind them, his fingers searched for his friend's, trying to find that little bit of support. "How're you holding up?" he asked quietly, leaning close and nudging his shoulder against the other mech's to get his attention.

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Wheeljack had similarly been searched, what few compartments he had ripped open and emptied. Their captors couldn't get at the contents of another's subspace compartment, but that was one of the functions of stasis cuffs – to make sure the wearer couldn't either. They'd not thought to check his hands, however, so he still had the mini-tools he'd built into his fingers. Not that they'd do him any good. Even if he _could_ reach anything to try to use them on, he didn't dare. He knew how these things worked – if he were caught at it, he'd be punished . . . likely through someone else while he was forced to watch, with their captors making sure _everyone_ knew who had brought this on them. He couldn't do that, not to the others and not to himself.

The engineer was exhausted, in a lot of pain from his many wounds, and nearly beyond his capacity for fear into a blank state of numbness. At this point, all he wanted was to turn his back on reality and pass out for a while. There was nothing more he could do anyway. He'd . . . he'd tried. He'd failed, but . . . at least he could say that he'd tried. His only real regret was that he'd not tried harder to save Ratchet from the same fate.

He shifted, turning a shoulder into the bulkhead next to him and tried to force himself into at least a light stasis. He stiffened slightly, but did well to hide it, when someone settled behind and next to him, praying they'd leave him alone if they thought he was recharging. But then, fingers were groping at the back of his hip and along one forearm. It startled a yip out of him, and he cowered away on reflex even as he twisted over his shoulder to see who it was and what they wanted of him.

"Ratchet!" Relief and guilt flooded through him, warring for dominance. "I-I'm sorry...Primus, I'm sorry!" The words tumbled out in a sob. "Y-you shouldn't...I never shoulda letcha come with me! A-an' how're you still alive? Those...those shots! I-I thought...thought _sure_ they'd-" His voice cut out, unable to say the words . . . and his crushed flange hurt too much to speak more than he had to anyway.

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"Hey, hey, don't apologize," Ratchet cut in, his voice low and soft. Between them, his fingers finally found Wheeljack's, and he squeezed in some small measure of reassurance. "It's all right. I'd rather be beat up and with you than alone and dead."

His optics dimmed momentarily while he turned his attention inward, a quick diagnostic scrolling past his vision. "Redundant systems took the hit. Backups are at twenty-seven percent." But steadily falling. Eventually, even his medical systems would have to lock him down into forced stasis, but for now they were enough to keep him more or less alert. "Still hurts like the slaggin' Pit, though."

He paused then and fixed Wheeljack with a look that was a mix between some sort of resigned sorrow and a grim understanding of their situation. "Whatever happens, I'm glad I met you. You're a good friend."

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_What about alone an' _alive_? An' free?_

It was moot at this point, so Wheeljack didn't bother to say it aloud. Ratchet's bound hands had found his, and he curled his fingers into the other's grip, hanging on as tightly as he could. They were almost back-to-back with each other so their hands _could_ reach. As much as it pulled on his banged-in chest and wrenched and impacted shoulders, he ignored the cold pain arcing through his sensor arrays to twist and try to meet the medic's optics over his shoulder.

Twenty-seven percent! Wheeljack choked audibly. _Barely over a quarter! Is that even enough ta run on?_ Obviously it was, at least for the moment . . . but how long would that _hold_?

He went very still at the last, searching the other's optics. _F-friend_… It was true that he'd come to think of Ratchet as such, but he never dreamed the medic might deign to feel the same. He'd never actually had a friend before, not a real one. "Y-you too." His voice was thin, weary from horror, but he meant it. From his spark, he meant it. "Took a lotta courage ta keep choosin' ta follow when ya had ever opportunity ta get away. I-I'm sorry you're here, I really am, an' that you're hurt . . . but also I . . . a-an' it's terrible ta say this, but . . . I-I'm . . . I'm really glad you're here." The movement was awkward, and it made him hurt even more, but he didn't care – he leaned a bit, twisting a little more to rest his head against the other's shoulder, fingers still entwined, both giving and accepting the comfort of a friend's presence.

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If Ratchet was going to be honest, he felt that it would have required more courage to leave Wheeljack than to stay with him. When there was someone else standing there with you, it was easier to pretend that you could handle whatever happened. But 'alone' was a terribly frightening concept to imagine.

He shifted, untangling his fingers from his friend's to get into a better position for him to rest his head. "It's not terrible and I'm not sorry," he said. "I'm glad you're here too." He dimmed his optics and leaned his own head back against the wall of the transport, waiting for the inevitable. Outside, the sounds of fighting were growing louder even as the transport took off, but he couldn't tell if it was just escalating or if it was getting closer...

At least until there was a sudden commotion from outside the ship – Decepticons shouting and laser fire close enough that it sounded like it was coming from right outside the doors. The transport lurched suddenly, the noise of engines flooding the hold, and Ratchet braced himself, pressing closer to Wheeljack as new panic flooded through his systems and put them all back on high alert. More shouting, more laser fire and then an explosion, deafening and thunderous, and it rocked the transport hard, sending the students gathered within sliding across the floor.

"Wheeljack!" The whole ship lurched and a sudden, tank-wrenching sensation of falling washed over Ratchet a split second before the transport smashed back into the ground. The impact knocked Ratchet back into the wall before skidding him down towards the front of the hold.

Had they just been _shot out of the sky_? What was _going on_ out there?

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Wheeljack was reluctant to let go until he got what it was Ratchet was doing. Then, gratefully, he shifted and settled against the other's chest, head resting on his shoulder. Some might have called it unseemly – mechs "didn't snuggle", except maybe those who were spark-bound (and he was _so_ not looking for a relationship) – but he didn't care. He knew he was an unusually contact-oriented person . . . and he needed this right now.

He sat huddled against Ratchet, trembling softly as he tried to ignore the sounds outside and the noise of terror and a rampant imagination within, his taxed systems slowly working to control the damage – far more slowly than a medic's. The terrible sounds of battle grew louder-

Shouts and shots just outside the cargo hold made everyone jump and look around, frightened gazes casting about as the prisoners silently asked one another what was going on. The engineer and the medic pressed and huddled into one another, both braced for . . . what, they didn't know. But then, it seemed their answer came with a massive concussive force that shuddered through the entire structure, the transport tilting to a crazy angle and pitching the prisoners around.

"Primus, save us!" a few voices cried as the lights in the hold flickered and dimmed and Wheeljack was slammed hard into the bulkhead next to him, Ratchet into his other side, and several of their fellows piled up on top of them both from across the hold.

"O-okay, w-who let Wheeljack near the rockets again?" a mech asked unsteadily as the prisoners attempted to untangle themselves.

Wheeljack recognized the voice of one of his classmates, an atmospheric science student and the class joker, usually the one to break up tensions between people. "Ha, ha, funny, Theophatron," Wheeljack deadpanned, for just a moment able to pretend they were piled up in the aftermath of one of his (failed) experiments and not the imprisoning hold of an embattled Decepticon transport.

"Guys, guys, shut up!" someone squeaked, his tone panicky. "I-I think that was one of the _main engines_ we just los-AHHH!"

Several terrified shrieks went up, Wheeljack's included – and he thought he heard Ratchet call his name – as the ship lurched again and then _dropped_ without warning, slamming the ground with the impact of a meteor. Or anyway, the engineer thought it must be what a meteor felt like. _Primus, why am I even _contemplatin'_ this!_

Once more, he'd wound up part of a heap of tangled bodies, this time in the far corner of the hold. The lights in the room had gone out, plunging the space into blackness lit only by pairs of wide optics. Everyone started to disengage themselves again but then froze in terror as the sounds of battle started anew . . . this time from decidedly _inside_ the ship! No one moved for several spark-wrenching kliks as the small, wretched company tried to track the sounds and make sense of them, preferably in a manner that meant a positive outcome for _them_. At last, the hold doors were forced open, and a dozen armed troops spilled into the room, flashlights clicking on to survey the scene. Even in the dimness, the new soldiers' stark red sigil, the Autobrand, were bright and unmistakable. Wheeljack nearly fainted in relief.


	13. Lost and Found

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 13 – Lost and Found

_True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost_. – Charles Caleb Colton

As Ratchet lay sprawled out on the floor of the crashed transport, watching new mechs enter in from the forced doors, he was sure that he was hallucinating the sight of the Autobot insignia. False sensory readings were a sign of advanced energy loss, weren't they? '_As levels drop,'_ he remembered from his textbooks,_ 'power diverts from the less crucial external sensory arrays to vital systems, leaving the information conduits susceptible to fluctuations and stimulus echoes; random processor noise is classified as valid input because the usual validation systems have all shut down.'_ It wasn't until he was hauled up to his feet and helped outside that he realized that this was _real,_and his systems scrambled to ration the last of his energy reserves even more just for the last scraps of coherent awareness.

They were safe! The Autobots had saved them! Where was Wheeljack? He had to see with his own optics that his friend was in the same hands he was. He spotted the engineer as they were in the process of being triaged, catching the other mech's own searching glance and calling out that he'd see him soon. The Autobots hustled him away quickly and when he looked around at the other mechs he was now with, they all looked like the walking offline. Primus, did they really think he was that bad off? He could still stand! He could help! He wasn't _that _injured-

The world suddenly lurched around him to the tune of a multitude of HUD warnings and the only things that kept him from pitching straight to the ground were a pair of steadying hands grabbing hold of his shoulders. "Steady on, now," someone said as they helped him to sit down on the scorched ground.

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For Wheeljack, the next few breems were something of a blur. The dozen-odd prisoners – several students from random disciplines of the physical sciences and one misplaced medical intern – were quickly but carefully helped to their feet amid an armed escort and led out to a staging area where their binders were removed and they were triaged into smaller groups based on levels of injury. Wheeljack tried to stay close to Ratchet, but his wounds didn't warrant the same emergency attention that the intern's did, and the two were forced apart to different areas of the make-shift clearing behind the transport's crash site. At least they weren't far from one another.

Wheeljack settled with his fellows to await medical attention or a shuttle to safer ground, rubbing absently at his impacted shoulder, still shaking with pain and reaction but too numb from emotional overload to feel much of anything. He looked around at the Autobot forces. They seemed stretched thin to him, too few for the number of freed students, captured Decepticons, _and_ to cover guarding the immediate area. He pulled his knees up, folded his arms over them, and put his head down.

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"Lucky you're not in stasis already," continued the mech as he supported Ratchet to sit. Without even having to give it any thought, Ratchet offered up the diagnostic port on the underside of his forearm when he was prompted for it. "Bless those robust systems, eh?" Ratchet simply nodded dimly, optics scanning the broken mess of ruined structures and ruined mechs around him before the ping of a medical scanner connection snapped him back to his own situation. The mech crouched in front of him was white and red with pale blue detailing, his markings identifing him as a medic.

"Wait, wait, I'm fine. Just patch me up and I can help," Ratchet said, the words barely registering in his processer before they spilled out, fingers groping for the scanner plug.

A blue hand covered his and held it out of the way. "Whoa, you aren't and you can't. I should rightly put you under where you sit."

Ratchet jerked his head up, optics pale but focused. "_I can help_," he pressed insistently. "And you've got other mechs to take care of instead of one who knows how to do that himself. Let me help you-…" He broke off, suddenly realizing that he didn't even know who he was talking to.

The Autobot medic looked like he was considering Ratchet's words, his expression terse even if his optics were hidden behind a visor. "...Evac," he said finally, disconnecting the scanner and straightening up. "Turn 'round, let me see to those wounds before you go anywhere." Ratchet complied with a relieved sigh, letting Evac clean and patch exit wound in his shoulder and the blast holes in his back with only barely composed patience. Being separated from Wheeljack was making him anxious, especially now that they were somewhere he could actually do some good instead of just tagging along behind the engineer like some lost petropup. It was all he could do not to squirm as Evac finished his work and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm trusting you, as one medic to another. Don't go disappointing me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Ratchet answered hurriedly, speaking even as he was pushing himself to his feet and hurrying in the direction he last saw his friend. "Wheeljack?" He called out, scanning the mechs around him for any sign of the engineer. "Wheeljack!"

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A silencer-muffled blaster shot _right_ next to Wheeljack – so close he was surprised there was no accompanying flash of agony – startled him back upright a klik later. He looked in time to see the student on his right slump over, dead. A second muffled shot took down the student sitting on his left, and before Wheeljack could process either death, hands were grabbing him, sending alarms shooting through his systems. One pinched his damaged vocal flange with an accompanying hiss to keep quiet _'or else'_. He didn't recognize the voice, but it oozed threat and a lethal surety. He was hauled to his feet, arms wrenched behind him, and dragged backwards across the perimeter line and out of the clearing, once again frightened at finding out what 'or else' might be.

"What about the converter?" he heard a second voice demand in a low whisper.

"Let 'em have the blasted converter!" the first growled quietly. "Fragging thing ain't working anyway. But we got the mech who can build another one, can build _ten _more! Lord Megatron will reward us handsomely for this scrap."

Terror crashed back through Wheeljack with the force of a shockwave. His new captors hadn't clamped an EMP gag on him or anything, but he still couldn't bring himself to call out for help. He didn't want to see anyone else hurt! _Please, just leave the others alone!_ Wide, frightened optics searched out Ratchet among the wounded and the tending.

_Y-you'll be okay now._ Strangely, it was the first thing to come to mind, and he thought to his friend what he couldn't speak aloud. _They'll take care'a ya. Y-you're...you're not alone now._ He glanced over his shoulder in the direction his captors seemed to be heading. They would disappear around a pile of rubble – and he with them – in just a few more steps. A faint whimper of fright vibrated his modulator. _R-ratchet!_ He wanted to cry out for help, but he didn't dare.

_T-take care! A-an' . . . an' thanks. Thanks for bein' my friend._

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That was when Ratchet saw the bodies. The Autobots had done a good job of keeping the terminated bodies away from those who were still online, but the two he spotted were slumped over out in the open, their wounds still leaking fresh fluids. He whirled around, panic and fear rushing through his systems and giving him the extra push needed to spot the brightly-colored foot right before it disappeared around a pile of rubble. He knew that paint job.

He didn't think – _couldn't_ think – because if he wasted the time, it would be too late. All he knew was that he was NOT going to lose his friend, not when they were this close to salvation. Primus Himself could be hauling Wheeljack away, and Ratchet vowed to himself that he would punch the Almighty Creator's optic out if he had to. No one was going to take Wheeljack away from him, not after _all this_.

Snarling, Ratchet bolted towards the pile, but didn't go around it. Instead, he scrambled up the side, scaling the debris with a speed and dexterity borne from emergency systems running on overtime. He paused at the top only long enough to judge his distance, then hurled himself bodily at the Decepticon holding Wheeljack, an enraged scream announcing his presence a nanoklik before he hit. He grabbed onto the Decepticon's helm, fingers catching on the sharp angles and yanking, dragging the much larger mech back and down easily with the force of his momentum. He hit the ground hard, but so did the Decepticon, stunning the mech long enough for Ratchet to scramble over him, grabbing his blaster and swinging it around to the second Decepticon.

He pulled the trigger reflexively, and at such close range, the blast easily slammed into the mech's chest, fracturing his laser core and sending him immediately into stasis. Below him, the first Decepticon was starting to thrash, his senses coming back, but Ratchet quickly changed that, whipping the aft end of the rifle into the mech's face. A sharp crack and he too fell still.

Vents heaving to cycle air through redlined systems, Ratchet turned to look for Wheeljack, not sure where the engineer had been dislodged to in the chaos.

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Raw, unadulterated terror had all but shut down the engineer's processor. He hadn't thought he could be more frightened than he had been too many times today already, but the prospect of being snatched away from the very edge of freedom back into capture, this time very much without the likelihood of rescue, was just too much. Eleventh-hour rescues only happened in stories after all, and the whole group of them had already had one of those when the transport was shot down after the prisoners had already been locked in its hold and it'd been on its way. No way was it happening a second time. So it was, clinging to the thin reassurance that at least he was the _only_ one facing this now, Wheeljack had given up hope of freedom and withdrawn deep into himself to escape his fate as long as possible.

The scream of rage was so thoroughly unexpected that Wheeljack registered only the fact that there was an attack. He didn't even realize that it _wasn't_ directed at him. What was left of his cognizance at this point registered only fury, attack, and chaos. His captor's grip on him released as he was born backwards to the ground along with two other bodies. A sobbing cry of fright escaped him as his two captors turned on the newcomer, and only one thought flashed through his processor with any clarity.

ESCAPE!

Scrambling, he kept low, ignoring the pain in both shoulders and his leg as he crawled away on hands and knees, not daring to spare even an astro-second to look back, and found a small hollow on the backside of a pile of fallen debris. He crammed himself inside, pulling up some of the flotsam to help further hide himself. He cut the connections to his vents to keep from panting and giving away his position. He might overheat, but at least he'd be safe, and he could try to seek help once the area was clear of enemies.

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Ratchet scrambled to his feet, turning in panicked, jerky movements as he tried to locate Wheeljack. He called out for him, the panic and worry creeping into his voice. _No... no no no_- He yelled for him again, louder and desperate now, oblivious to the weapon still gripped in his hand.

Before he could go looking for the engineer though, he was grabbed from behind, a howl leaving his vocalizer before he recognized the blue hands trying to restrain him. "Let me go! LET ME GO!" he cried regardless, tugging against the currently stronger mech.

"Blessed Primus, easy there!" Evac countered, trying to calm the panicking Ratchet down from his hysteria. He'd come running when he'd heard the scream and blaster fire, but he hadn't expected to see the mech he'd just so recently 'discharged' having a screaming fit over a pair of offline Decepticons. Had his processor finally fried out?

Ratchet kicked at the ground, trying to find the purchase he was convinced he needed to break free. "Nngh! He's here somewhere! Get your hands off me! Wheeljack, _please_!" His plea cut off in a choked sound, and it was at that point that Evac got fed up trying to keep his grip on the other medic. Kicking Ratchet's feet out from under him, he pushed him down with as much grace as the situation would allow. Ratchet's frame hit the ground, his vents wide open and sending clouds of dust into the air as he was held down.

He was gone. Wheeljack was gone. _Oh Primus, please no, don't let it have come to this_... Ratchet clawed frantically at the ground, his spark begging him to struggle free and find his friend but his body not having the strength left to do it. "Let me find my friend!" he begged Evac brokenly, unwilling to believe that he'd failed his final attempt at keeping Wheeljack safe.

"This is for your own good," was all Evac said, right before injecting Ratchet's primary service line with a signal suppressant. Warnings were suddenly replaced by error messages across Ratchet's HUD, his sensory arrays shutting down in a cascade of blackness before it finally engulfed his consciousness and dragged him down into forced stasis.

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"GET YOUR SLAGGIN' HANDS OFF HIM!"

Through the terror, through the panic, through the hopelessness, Wheeljack had indeed heard his friend's cries. He'd not at first responded, too frightened to get his vocalizer to work, but then it sounded like someone had attacked his friend. That was the catalyst to drive the panicked engineer from his little safe place . . . and he'd come out to the sight of the medic - his _friend!_ - being dropped to the ground while trying to find him. Before he knew what he was doing or who exactly he was doing it to, he plowed a shoulder into Ratchet's attacker with the force of a freight train, slamming the other mech away from his friend. He'd tripped over Ratchet's prone form himself in his rush, but then he pulled himself to his feet, snatching up a discarded rifle and crouching over his friend. Gaze and weapon locked on the other mech – however awkwardly – the engineer reached down and shook the medic's shoulder, his tone breaking with desperation. "R-ratch . . . Ratch, wake up . . . Ratchet!"

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Evac looked up just in time to see Wheeljack barreling towards him like a mech possessed. "Slaggin-" He was slammed into and sent tumbling, rolling across the ground with a surprised cry. What in the Pit was going on here? He couldn't blame the students here if they were a little out of their processors with everything that had been happening, but Primus above, this was just insane.

Ratchet, for his part, remained motionless despite Wheeljack's attempts to rouse him, the combination of the suppressant, injuries, and depleted energy levels putting the medic into a stasis far too deep for some shaking to pull him out of it. He looked about as peaceful as an unconscious mech could be, however, and there were no signs of fresh injuries on him, just the patch job Evac had done. He was quite happily in his own little world right then.

"He's just in stasis," Evac tried to explain to Wheeljack as he picked himself up, although he didn't dare try to move from where he was with the rifle still pointed at him. "It's okay. You can put the weapon down. No one's going to hurt you or him."

He could hear the sound of running footsteps getting closer, and a comm alert from Daybreak, the acting Lieutenant on scene, was enough to tell Evac that others were coming. The last thing he wanted was for them to see this. It would be too easy to misunderstand, and there had already been enough of that so far.

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Shock was finally setting in, a state of overstressed and heat-damaged cables and conduits that slowed the engineer's reflexes and severely hampered his usually sharp mind.

Wheeljack glared at the other mech, only belatedly recognizing the Autobrand and the markings of a medic. ...medic. Medic! This guy was a _medic_!

And he'd attacked Ratchet!

...no. No, that wasn't right. That _couldn't_ be right! The Autobots were supposed to be here to _help!_

The engineer looked down at his friend, and it was then that the other's appearance finally struck him. Ratchet looked at peace. He wasn't in pain. He wasn't scared. He wasn't _conscious _either, but for a moment that almost didn't even matter. For just a moment, Wheeljack could truly believe he'd be all right.

"It's okay. You can put the weapon down. No one's going to hurt you or him."

Wheeljack looked back up at the older medic, staring dumbly. Not going to hurt him. Not going to hurt him or Ratchet. Weapon...? Wheeljack didn't remember picking up a weapon, but he looked down and sure enough found a rifle in his hand. He nearly dropped it in shock. Then his audios registered the sounds of approach. With a soft cry, he hunched lower over Ratchet, determined to protect him, but a stressed connection in his damaged leg finally gave, the leg collapsing and dropping the engineer on his aft. With that, his mental stance collapsed too.

Shifting to his knees, Wheeljack abandoned the rifle and any further hope of fighting back, instead wrapping his arms around the unconscious intern and pulling him into his lap. "R-ratch..." His voice was soft and broken with threatening sobs as he tucked over his friend and rocked him gently, too exhausted and in too much pain to be afraid anymore of who was coming or what they'd do to him.

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Evac sagged in visible relief when Wheeljack dropped the gun and turned his attention to the downed intern – Ratchet, he'd called him. It was a sorry sight to see; the mechs were both young, and to have to be suffering through this kind of thing, it disappointed Evac beyond the point of being angry. He didn't move from where he was but watched over the students until Daybreak and her guards finally rounded the pile of rubble and joined him.

With the loose weapons now in control, Evac was able to assess the two downed Decepticons, pronouncing one dead and the other functional enough to be taken into custody. It took considerably more work to convince Wheeljack to let go of Ratchet, as no amount of asking or pleading would get him to release his hold on the intern he was apparently dead-set on defending, even from friendly hands. It would eventually take Daybreak having to practically pry the engineering student's hands away for Evac to retrieve the limp frame of Ratchet amidst promises that he wouldn't let the two out of sight.

They were both going to be all right, and as soon as the transport was ready, they could take everyone back to the forward encampment where proper medical treatment could be administered. Ratchet would likely be out for at least a solar cycle, if not more, and from the looks of things, Wheeljack could probably use a recharge just as long. Evac would be more than happy to let them both have the time.

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Wheeljack was indeed difficult to separate from his friend. Pain, fatigue, and far too many bouts of mind-crushing terror had taken their toll - his mental faculties were severely compromised, to put it nicely. All he knew was that he couldn't let them take Ratchet from him. Not again. This time he might _really_ never see him again!

He sobbed and panicked, pleading mindlessly when the lieutenant pried him back from his friend, calming only when the medic promised not to separate them too far. He probably would have been rather ashamed of some of his babbling – stuff along the lines of "he's the only friend I have" and "the 'Cons'll get me, I'm an engineer" – but he was too frightened of being hauled away again, or of seeing Ratchet attacked again, to care. Truth was, he wasn't even much _aware_ of what he was saying. And it was evident to those around him. Inasmuch as they could, they compromised for the sake of the traumatized young mech.

Whenever possible, Wheeljack kept a hand on the static intern – on a shoulder, a forearm, a _foot_ if need be – but he was careful not to get in the way of the medics who worked on Ratchet, at the triage site or at the forward encampment once everyone was safely relocated. He was completely silent as they worked on Ratchet, then on him, only speaking when asked direct questions.

And the questions were many. At first, they were mostly what his damage was, did this help, did that feel better . . . but then they got down to business. One of the other officers came in and started asking the engineer what happened, wanting a full report. Wheeljack told his and Ratchet's story as best he could, and the officer stated that he would be getting Ratchet's story and to stick to his own. Wheeljack wanted to growl at him to leave the medic alone – hadn't Ratchet been through _enough_? – but he managed to keep his silence on that, only nodding.

Finally, the two were moved to a small shed in a secluded part of the encampment. A guard right outside assured that no one would disturb them, and Wheeljack settled on a makeshift berth next to Ratchet's, but he couldn't recharge. Giving up, he moved to Ratchet's berth, leaning back on the wall as he pulled the medic up into his lap, wrapping his arms around the other's chest and resting the other's head against his shoulder. He didn't really think about what he was doing, just moved on reflex – he needed the contact, needed the weight, to know enough that the medic was okay so his processor would calm down and finally let him rest.

At last, he slipped into desperately-needed recharge.


	14. Counting Blessings

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 14 – Counting Blessings

_Friendship that flows from the heart cannot be frozen by adversity, as the water that flows from the spring cannot congeal in winter_. – James Fenimore Cooper

The crawl out of forced stasis was long and slow, filled with random memories and dreams as systems recalibrated and diagnostics swept through subroutines, checking for damaged sectors that might have caused the shutdown.

_"-dflkdient's ventricular energon line to decouple from the primary exchange. What's your course of action, Ratchet?"_

_"Reach in and grab it."_

_"What?"_

_"A mech can leak out from his ventricular line in less than a breem. If you can clamp the damage before he loses more thanlsfds-"_

_"-oyjkfghu're gonna be there, right?"_

_"Wouldn't miss it for the world."_

_"You promise?"_

_"I promise."_

The world was just static at first, overlaid with the scrolling results of the diagnostics: all clear. Energon levels at 56%. ARS at optimum capacity. Structural damage down 70% from last scan. Emergency dampeners offline.

"Wuh-" Ratchet shifted, sensory information trying to feed him a confusing mess of information all at once and making his processor ache trying to sort it all out. Frustrated, he shoved most of it away and tried to move, only to find his upper half restrained, albeit loosely. Arms? Wait, there was something behind him – no, some_one_.

Wheeljack!

Wait, that couldn't be right. Where was he? What was going on? He tried to pull himself away again and put more effort into it this time, twisting around in the arms he was currently wrapped up in, trying to orientate himself… get to his feet… _something_. He was so confused and that ache in his head just kept getting worse.

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He was leaned back with a weight on his chest. Primus, what had he done _this _time?

_Laid out flat on his back, Wheeljack looked up at the faces leering over him: Flatline, Skystalker, Heatwave, Hooligan, Bludgeon . . . if he didn't play this right, he knew he was likely to _get_ bludgeoned. He shuttered his optics and just . . . braced for it. _Please, just get this over with quick._He was already forming his story for the interns in Med-bay for when he limped in, or Hooligan dragged his aft in. Again._

_The weight shifted, starting to pull away, and he realized he was hugging it when he felt his arms tighten around it in response. Oh! That's right! That's what he was doing. He was protecting something, something important, something precious, and they were trying to take it from him. NO!_ Mine! You can't have it! I won't let you take it!  
_  
...him! Not an 'it' but a 'him'. His friend! A real friend, and a good mech. Ratchet! Medical intern who'd stood by him through . . . something. Something really terrible and frightening, that had gotten the intern hurt . . . and it was _All. His. Fault!

_He tried to hang on, but the Autobots – that medic and the femme lieutenant and another, no-nonsense officer – said it was for the intern's own good, and they took him._

"No! P-please..."

The soft whimper escaped him as the body in his arms turned and pulled away, and his optics slowly powered back on. S-sleeping? He'd been in recharge? It took him a moment to register where he was, what was real and what wasn't. There was a mech directly in front of him, pretty much in his lap, and he reached out tentatively to touch him, half-afraid he'd prove to be a hallucination.

"R-ratch . . . ?"

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It was quiet. That was the first thing that struck Ratchet when he finally managed to sort his processor out. Not perfectly quiet – he could hear other mechs outside wherever they were and what might have been ship engines in the far distance – but there was no blaster fire, no screaming, no alarms... He couldn't remember clearly what had happened before he went into stasis so trying to figure out where he was now was something of a lost cause, but the lack of a war outside and the fact that he wasn't shackled was good enough for him at the moment. He'd take what he could get.

His immediate surroundings and level of safety accounted for, he turned to the other mech on the berth with him. It _was_Wheeljack, and it looked like he was dragging himself out of recharge. The flood of relief at seeing his friend alive and repaired was overwhelming, and Ratchet could feel some of the tension in his frame ease out at the reassurance. Somehow, some way, had they actually managed to make it through in one piece? He'd been sure at the end that it had all gone wrong – that he had somehow managed to fail at the very last chance, but maybe someone was watching out for them after all.

He smiled and let Wheeljack touch him, a part of him just as glad for the contact. "Hey. How're you feeling?" A simple question, but it seemed that having the opportunity to ask it at all was important.

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"Ratchet! Primus, you're okay!" The touch turned into a _hug_ before Wheeljack knew what he was doing, relief choking his voice with soft static. But then, it _did_ register what he'd just done, and he flinched and made himself let go and pull back. "S-sorry. But . . . I mean . . . you _are_ okay, right? T-they said you would be. They'd done what they could for now, an' you just needed ta rest an' work off whatever it was that guy Evac'd given ya."

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Ratchet let out a surprised 'oof' as he was hugged, the contact sudden but not entirely unexpected. His smile stayed firmly in place however, even when Wheeljack pulled back. How was he in any position to complain about a hug? He might have even returned it if his head hadn't still been spinning. 'They' said he'd be okay? Evac had given him something? The last little scraps of memory he could pull up were jumbled and only half there, but he did recall Evac being there... and that was all.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he assured his friend, settling himself more comfortably on the other side of the berth where he could stretch out a little. His joints felt like someone had filled them with sharp scrap. "So what happened? Evac grabbed me and then..." He waved a hand helplessly. "I don't remember seeing you."

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His friend was conscious, moving on his own, and there was no anger, fear, or pain on his faceplates. Wheeljack sagged back against the wall in relief . . . but curled a bit at the question. "I-I . . . I'm not too sure. I know a couple'a 'Cons had gotten a hold'a me, an' they knew who I was, or anyway, what I'd done. They were talkin' about...I-I don't know, sellin' me t-ta Megatron'r somethin'." He shuddered, curling a bit more. "But . . . we'd just gotten outta sight of camp around some rubble when this . . . there was some terrible scream an' somethin' – w-well, some_one_, I guess – someone attacked the 'Cons. I-I never did see who. I-I - " . . . _'was too scared' . . . _"I just knew I had ta get outta there. M-maybe it was another 'Con, I didn't know. I just knew that was my only chance ta escape, s-so I took it. Buried myself under a pile'a trash ta wait for things ta calm down again. But..."

He looked up, meeting Ratchet's optics again. "Then I heard you callin'. O-or anyway, might'a been you. I couldn't tell if maybe I was hallucinatin' it or somethin' . . . a-an' I . . . I couldn't make myself move. I-I just . . . b-but then sounded like you were attacked. I . . . I don't really remember what happened next. You were on the ground, unconscious o-or _dead_ for all I knew, an' there was another mech standin' over ya . . . b-but then he wasn't. _I_ was, an' he was a couple meters away – I-I think I knocked 'im back, maybe? – a-an' I couldn't get ya ta respond. He said you were just in stasis. T-turns out he's an Autobot, an' a medic . . . an' then others caught up a-an' . . . " And his voice trailed off – the rest was a blur.

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Ratchet crossed his legs, propped his head up on his hand and listened thoughtfully to Wheeljack's retelling of the events that were little more than a convoluted blur in his own memory banks. Wheeljack's didn't seem to have fared much better, but at least they filled in a few of the missing holes in his. It seemed impossible that they'd actually managed to make it through that, and he could see the lingering effects written in his friend's posture and the lilt of his voice . . . and he didn't blame him. By all rights they should be dead; no one came out of something like that without the shakes.

At the same time, they were _alive_. Safe. Ratchet leaned back and tapped his fingers on his chin as he mulled it all over. Wheeljack had been hiding from him – that was why he hadn't seen the other mech after the fight, and that went a long way to soothing the guilt and worry about _that, _although he did feel bad for upsetting both his friend and Evac with his behavior about it. He hadn't failed, but he had made a mess of himself over it at the time.

Not to mention that ridiculous leap he'd made at the Decepticons. Now that Wheeljack described it, the memory cleared up a little, and _Primus_ had he actually thought that had been a good idea when he did it? He tried to stop the grin from spreading across his face, but it was impossible, and it was very quickly followed by laughter. "That was ME!" He shoved Wheeljack's foot with one of his. "I was the screaming lunatic. Guess my battle cry needs some work, huh?"

He simply couldn't ignore the absurdity of it all, and he refused to let the fear of what had happened and what they had done smother him. He wouldn't let it, no matter how much he might have wanted to go hide in a corner. They'd come too far to let ghosts cripple them. "Did you at least apologize to Evac for hitting him?"

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Ratchet grinned, then started laughing, and Wheeljack was suddenly afraid that the mech had lost it after all.

"That was ME!"

The engineer's optics flared in shock, a choked buzz sounding from his vocal modulator. "Y-_you_? You took on those two 'Cons? By yourself? H-_how_? How did ya even _know_? You were halfway across the camp in Level One Triage, or whatever they called that. You were barely on your feet!"

Although now that he thought about it, it was the only explanation that made sense, in as much as anything did at all – Ratchet's sudden presence that far out of camp, the lack of an obvious "other" mech to have been the assailant who took down the two Decepticons . . . of course, it _could_ have been that medic Evac who'd done it, but that didn't explain Ratchet being there. Evac, he thought he now recalled, had been the one who'd been repairing Ratchet when the engineer was captured. Unlikely that the medic would have brought even a healthy intern, let alone a heavily-damaged one, into combat. More likely, Ratchet had gotten away from him and he'd followed. Which meant . . .

"Y-you . . . you came after me. Ya found out I'd been grabbed, a-an' ya came after me. I-is that it?" It was less fear than some level of . . . _disbelief_ almost. Not that he thought for an astro-second that Ratchet would lie to him, but just that, that kind of thing only ever happened in stories.

_'You're a good friend.'_

Now that things had calmed down, now that stress and emotions weren't high and Ratchet didn't _need_him like he had before, the engineer didn't know if the medical intern would decide it was time to part ways and get back on track toward whatever it was he wanted to do with his life, probably as far from what had happened today, along with any reminders, as he could get.

Wheeljack was afraid to find out the answer to that.

Shoving it aside, he rubbed sheepishly at the side of one vocal flange. "Ah . . . n-no? Eheh, I think I remember sayin' a lotta things, but I honestly don't remember much of _what_."

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"I went looking for you and saw them drag you off," Ratchet said, nodding and confirming Wheeljack's question. He probably _shouldn't _have just charged off, but he hadn't exactly been thinking clearly at the time. Neither of them had, it seemed.

He grinned at his friend's nervous fiddling. "It's alright, I'm just teasing you." He didn't mean to needle Wheeljack about the little thing, but he couldn't help it. The more he thought about the things that had happened, the more he realized just how staggeringly out of his league he was, and the more he wanted to cling to the little things. He glanced around the small room they were in, noting the empty second berth that looked like it should have had someone on it, then back to Wheeljack. It wasn't a difficult assumption to make.

"Thanks for watching out for me."


	15. The Next Step

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 15 – The Next Step

_"Hold a true friend with both hands."_ – Nigerian proverb

Wheeljack tilted his head a bit at the first comment. Ratchet had specifically gone looking for him. That . . . meant a lot to him. Whatever happened from here, it meant a lot. Then he laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, kinda figured. I _do _wish I could remember what I'd said, though. I know I babbled a lot. Heh, probably pretty incoherent at that point. I'd . . . I think I'd finally just had enough, an' my processor shut down without quite takin' the rest'a me with it."

He watched Ratchet cast a look around the room, really taking it in for probably the first time. At the gratitude, the engineer gazed back, the nightmare returning to him . . . and with it a hint of his real memories – clinging to the intern, trying to protect him when he could no longer protect himself. Making sure those who were "caring" for him really were doing just that. And . . . that had it not been for Ratchet's actions, he'd not be there at all _to_ have done that. He'd be long gone by now, lost to the enemy. He suppressed a shudder, merely nodding instead. "You too. Lookin' out for me. Thanks, Ratch."

_'W-we're gonna be okay . . . Listen. W-we're gonna be okay. We've made it this far, right? We're not dead, an' we're not caught. We're gonna get outta this. Just you watch.'_

Words spoken in pseudo-confidence as they'd hidden in a supply closet, what felt like a lifetime ago, came back to him just then, and it hit him – they had. They really, really had! A soft, inarticulate noise escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a chortle . . . and then he was chuckling . . . and it was his turn to laugh. A real, spark-felt laugh, and it felt _so good_!

"W-we made it! D'ya realize?" The intern had shifted too far away for Wheeljack to hug him without it being awkward, so he just grabbed the intern's near arm in both hands, needing _some_ level of contact to make it feel real. "We really, really made it! Stuck together, looked out for each other, an' we made it through! Just like I told ya we would! _Remember_?" There was no smugness in his voice at all, only relieved, glad victory.

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His laugh was contagious and Ratchet couldn't help but share Wheeljack's good mood, a wide grin splitting his expression as the other student grabbed his arm and let his joy tumble out. "Remember? I seem to remember you trying to _ditch_ me for your own personal suicide mission," he countered humorously, giving his friend another nudge with his foot.

Being able to laugh about what you had gone through was one of the rewards given to those who had made it out of their personal trials alive. That was something he'd learned during his internship and something he tried to pass on as often as he could. Wheeljack apparently didn't need the help, and Ratchet was more than happy to just join in.

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The engineer sobered some, but even that couldn't kill his sheer joy. "Yeah, well, I tried ta warn ya that ya'd just get yourself half-slagged if ya stuck with me, an' look what happened, yeah?" Despite the words, his tone matched the intern's as he gave a gentle kick back.

Calming a bit more, he let go of Ratchet's arm and sat back, rubbing at his damaged flange. The repairs to both of them were field patch-jobs, not meant to be permanent – those would come later – so his flange still stung, but at least it didn't _hurt _like it had before.

"Thanks for that." He hadn't meant to say that aloud, but then he realized he had, so he ran with it. "For not listenin' ta me, I mean. I didn't wanna see ya any more hurt, but . . . I'm really glad ya stayed." He wasn't so sure he could have gotten as far as he had on his own.

_Did ya really mean that, though? About rather havin' been with me than alone an' free, an' me bein' your friend?_

He didn't dare ask, so he turned to safer territory. "Medics'll probably be in ta check on us any time. I think they still plan ta ship the lot of us to a proper medical center for real repairs, an' then – well, an' I know there's a sergeant who's gonna wanna talk ta you, get your story from you directly. An' then, I . . . guess we're free ta . . . go. Do whatever we wanna do. Go home, try transferrin' schools, something. Whatever." He shrugged noncommittally.

For himself, he . . . didn't know what he was going to do now. There was no way he'd be able to get into another school – he'd gotten in on faked records that depended on having the doyen's support to keep them hidden – and there was _no way_ he was going "home."

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Wheeljack's thanks were accepted silently with a small nod; they were both thankful to have had each other through the ordeal, and Ratchet had certainly meant everything that he'd said about it. He wouldn't have wanted to be alone. He wasn't sure he would have been able to handle it on his own, so it hadn't really mattered _where_ he'd wound up, as long as Wheeljack had been with him. He hadn't know the mech very long – that was certainly something to consider – but the other student hadn't given him a reason not to trust him, so Ratchet didn't see any reason why he couldn't. And there had certainly been ample opportunities for the other mech to betray that. He hadn't, though, and that meant something – it meant _a lot_.

He listened as Wheeljack finished talking, trailing off into a sort of strange little place that seemed out of place coming from the engineer. Ratchet had seen him distracted and preoccupied – that seemed to account for a good deal of the mech's aborted thoughts – but this was different. It was noticeable enough that he almost wanted to ask about it but wasn't exactly sure how.

"What do you think you'll do?" he asked instead, prodding at the subject that seemed to be at the heart of it. And who knew, maybe Wheeljack's answer would help Ratchet make his own decision. But probably not; the other mech sounded about as lost regarding the immediate future as Ratchet felt.

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"Me?" Wheeljack squirmed a bit at the question, but he kept his tone upbeat. "Oh, I dunno. I'll figure somethin' out. I always do. Kinda...got a lotta possibilities open, ya know?" Anything was _possible_, after all, right? Of course, the likelihood of turning any that he wanted into _probabilities_ at this point...

He aborted that train of thought before it got too far, turning the question back on the intern. "What about you, Ratch? Another school, maybe? You're good – I know ya are. Should be able ta get inta any school ya want ta finish your trainin'. Maybe Ky-Alexia, up there just off the Mithril Sea? They're small, but I hear they've got the _best _Med program!"

And it was far from any known battle front, even farther than Gygax had been.

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Wheeljack's answer got a confused tilt of Ratchet's head; it didn't sound particularly convincing, especially coming from someone like Wheeljack who had always seemed willing to talk at length about all his possibilities before. But before he could dig at it, the subject had been thrown back at him.

"Way the frag out there?" he answered, one optic ridge going up in disbelief. "I don't think I could get my nose high enough in the air for those mechs." His tone practically dripped barely restrained displeasure. It was true that he probably could have gotten into the program with his current credentials, but he didn't _want_ to. "I'm not looking to become someone's private physician."

But he hadn't been looking for this either. There was a difference between a public servant and a battlefield medic like Evac. Wasn't there? He shifted, drawing his legs up and folding his arms across his knees, expression suddenly a stormy mix of irritation and uncertainty. Everything he knew about himself dictated that he should help his fellow Cybertronians, but it was conflicting with the horrific memories of what he'd just gone through. Could he do that again... and again... and again...? Could he throw himself into war zones like Evac? He wanted to help, but-

Maybe it was easier to be afraid of those things when you were sitting safe in a little room. His fingers tensed against his arms as he shoved the thoughts aside and refocused his optics on Wheeljack. "Maybe I'll hang around here for a while," he said, as if trying out how the words sounded. "Are you gonna leave?"

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Wheeljack had never been good at bluffing. It was one reason he'd learned when to just keep his mouth _shut_. He knew he had no real place in Gygax University, and others could tell too, so when he was confronted about it, the answer was always 'go talk to the doyen.' And some did, and they were turned away with a viable explanation that the doyen could pull off. Wheeljack wasn't the one to have to try to convince them.

He couldn't convince Ratchet either. And really? He didn't want to. Unlike with so many others, where he didn't really care . . . he didn't _want_to lie to Ratchet.

Even if it meant losing what friendship he had once the other mech knew the truth.

Wheeljack couldn't say he disagreed about the haughty attitude of the Ky-Alexians, and a part of him found he was really glad to hear Ratchet reject the idea and why – it spoke volumes for the mech's character, as far as Wheeljack was concerned. He watched Ratchet curl up a bit as he struggled with something internal.

"Are you gonna leave?"

Wheeljack flinched visibly, and his optics dropped away from Ratchet's. It was his turn to curl up, and the only reason he didn't bury his face behind his arms was that he was actively talking to someone. If he was going to not lie to Ratchet, he needed to get it all laid out and over with, and see where they stood then. "I dunno. I-I don't...I don't have anywhere ta go, really. Can't go _home_ – " That came out a hurt and angry mutter. " – an' I can't really go try ta get inta another school. I wasn't even supposed ta be in _this_ one, ta be honest with ya. Not that ya probably couldn't already tell anyway. I just . . . I dunno."

And that admission robbed his strength. Shoulders slumping, he curled forward over his knees, face in one hand. "It's . . . it's okay, though. I'll think'a somethin'." He sounded even less convincing, and he knew it, but he didn't fight it anymore, not for now anyway. It wasn't that he didn't believe it – he did – he just . . . couldn't see it.

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Silence settled in between the two mechs after Wheeljack's explanation as Ratchet stared at him, expression firm. He was trying to understand what was being told to him – Wheeljack had nowhere to go? It was an idea that, if Ratchet was being honest with himself, he'd never considered and it seemed... preposterous. But to be faced with the mech he had been calling friend, that he had known as a student in the university, telling him that he was out on the streets now... he almost couldn't wrap his processor around it. It wasn't something he would have expected to run into at Gygax, and that sudden realization shook him.

He shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow he still managed it, and with that came a sense of shame that truly _was_unexpected. He'd made assumptions and simply passed off on the idea that being... 'homeless'... just wasn't something that they – that his fellow students – would ever have to worry about because... because why? Because everyone else did? Because it was just the logical assumption to make that if they were here, then somehow they were different? He'd never had any reason to look at the student walking past him in the hallways and wonder.

He watched Wheeljack put his head into his hand, and he wanted to apologize for a whole litany of things. For the assumptions he'd been making without even knowing it, for the situation this war had suddenly put the other mech into, and most of all, for the fact that he had to face this in the first place. It wasn't right or fair.

"...No, it's not okay," he said finally, voice dry. "It's _not_." But what else was there? What other options were there? Facing this was almost as far out of his realm of experience as the war zone had been. He struggled to find some way of coming to grips with it, but it wasn't as easy as he would have hoped. He just didn't know what to tell Wheeljack. He knew this wasn't right, but he had no idea how to change it, no idea what he could say or do or...

"You can come with me," he blurted out finally when he found himself at a complete loss for anything else to say. "I don't know what I'm doing yet either, but you can't just... wander off."

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When Ratchet didn't say anything for a long moment, Wheeljack found himself hunching further, bracing for it . . . whatever exactly "it" was going to be. They weren't from the same level, and now Ratchet knew it. The engineer was prepared to admit to the rest, just waiting for the flood of questions - 'why can't you go home? Where is home? How'd you worm your way into Gygax? Did you honestly think you could better yourself _that_ far? Did you really think you could _compare_?'

He was from the lowest stratum of society one could get without being a spark-less drone – a runaway slave from the deep mines under Blaster City on the edge of the Badlands. Even if he had never craved freedom, he never had fit in with his fellows – he was too creative, his head too far in the clouds. He'd wanted more, and he'd finally found a way to leave home and try for his dreams of becoming an inventor, an engineer working to better life for all his fellows, coming up with devices and ways of doing things that were faster, safer, easier. And . . . maybe bring a little more equality across the strata while he was at it.

Those dreams had shattered with the first rockets that hit the school earlier today . . . or probably more like "yesterday" at this point – he realized his internal chronometer was offline.

He'd never truly fit in anywhere he was. How ironic that his first friend, the first person to really give him the time of day, came now that he had no place at all. Except . . . he'd probably just lost even that, hadn't he? He waited for Ratchet to say something, unable to make himself look at the other mech.

The first, dry comment wasn't wholly unexpected. Ratchet was a decent-enough mech, at the very least, to think as much. The blurted offer, on the other hand, brought the engineer's head snapping back up so fast, he knocked it on the wall behind him by accident. "R-ratc-OW! I-I mean . . . Ratchet?" He studied the other's optics, half-wondering if he'd somehow heard the other wrong. "I . . . y-you . . . well, no, I'm not gonna just wander off. I mean . . . I'll keep in touch'r somethin'. I-if ya want! B-but - " He vented a sigh, yanking his shock and other emotions back under control. "Listen . . . you're from a good stratum, right? You've still got everythin' ahead'a you. Believe me, you don't wanna strap yourself ta anythin' that could hold ya back. You're a _good_ medic, Ratchet . . . an' a good mech."

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Ratchet wasn't worried about the details of Wheeljack's past at the moment. As far as he was concerned, where the other mech came from didn't matter right now so much as where he was going to _go_. And it bothered him that Wheeljack would expect to be left in the dust while he continued on without him. If he was a good mech like he'd been told, why would he turn his back on his friend?

"I oughta sock you one for the slag coming out of your mouth," he shot back, expression stern. "You really think I'd throw myself at the Decepticons for you only to turn around and leave when something like _stratum_ comes up? C'mon, don't call me a good mech and then think that I'd just leave you on the curb." The look in his optics softened then; he didn't want Wheeljack to think that he was yelling at him like he'd done something wrong. "'Cause you're a good mech too, Wheeljack. You're my _friend_ and if I wanna strap myself to you, then at least it'll keep you out of trouble."

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Wheeljack flinched back, optics dropping, as initially only the tone really registered. But then, the _words_ filtered in through expectation and past experience, and the former mining slave's gaze came back up to stare in shock, optics bright and dilated.

For a long moment, that really was about all he could do, stare dumbly as he searched the other's face for the truth. The intern was just trying to make him feel better . . . right?

No. Ratchet really meant it, believed it. That realization hit Wheeljack like a shot from a fusion canon. It was almost painful in some bizarre way he couldn't explain, and he tucked his head into his arms for a moment while he tried to work that out.

"I-I've...n-never had a friend before."

He bit back a groan. Could he seriously _not_ manage to quit saying things he didn't mean to say aloud? He needed to learn to cut power to his vocalizer or something. A statement like that was just _lame_, after all. True . . . but lame.

Venting a faintly irritated sigh at himself, he made himself sit back and drag his gaze up to Ratchet's once more. He didn't know what to say . . . so finally he just stopped thinking about it at all and let whatever was going to come out, come out.

"Thank you, Ratchet. I'd . . . I'd like it if we can stick together. You're my friend too . . . an' I can't tell ya how much that means ta me."

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Wheeljack's comment about his first friend got a quirk of an optic from Ratchet. That was... odd, okay, but if the intern was going to have a moment of selfishness, he didn't consider himself a bad start as far as friends went. Wheeljack certainly could've done worse.

He was grinning when the other mech looked back up at him, previous irritation forgotten in the face of the acceptance of his help. "That makes two of us, then." He moved then, sliding off the edge of the berth and getting his feet under him. It felt good to be running on something other than fumes and for once, his legs actually felt strong enough to support him without being propped up by force of will.

"You feeling up to taking a look around? I don't plan to sit around here all day."

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"That makes two of us, then."

Wheeljack couldn't express with a grin the new joy he was feeling in that moment. It was such a simple statement, but it meant the world to him. Suddenly, where he was, or where he wound up, didn't matter so much. If he stuck with Ratchet, he'd probably wind up doing something medical rather than continue to pursue engineering, but . . . but that was okay. The two weren't _so_ far removed after all, and it meant he had a friend and someone who actually wanted him around wherever it was he wound up. That was good enough for him!

Ratchet shifted off the berth, and Wheeljack quickly followed, moving on reflex to help steady his friend . . . and glad to see he didn't have to. He nodded. "Sure! I'm up for it if you are." He motioned in invitation at the door.


	16. With Head Held High

Disclaimer – "Transformers" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. We get no monetary benefit from this. Our benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"The Ties That Bind"  
by Yellow_Ideya & DragonDancer5150

Chapter 16 – With Head Held High

_A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us to be what we should_. – unknown

Wheeljack followed the intern – 'former' intern? what _was_ Ratchet going to do now? – out of the shed. Now that he was thinking more clearly, he could better take in their surroundings. They were in what he thought was called a MASH unit, a mobile army surgical hospital – a small military base of mobile containers and semi-permanent structures located not far back from an active front line and meant to take combat wounded to stabilize for transport to safer, better-equipped facilities. He looked again at Ratchet. He himself had not been so badly off that he couldn't have been evacuated with most of the rest of the students, but Ratchet . . . Ratchet had. And the others – the Autobots in command of the current situation – had allowed Wheeljack to stay with his friend instead of trying to keep him out of their way. He thought he remembered the medic Evac having a lot to do with that. He made a note to find and _thank_ him for that. And apologize. Heh, he definitely needed to apologize.

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There were a couple of Autobots outside when they stepped out, but aside from them, the area was more or less empty. It looked like they might have been towards the outskirts of the unit, set aside to make room for more important buildings. Not far away, however, there seemed to be more activity and the sound of transports was joined by the sight of one lifting off and leaving.

Ignoring the milling soldiers, Ratchet turned and headed in that direction. As they got closer, the number of Autobots increased, many with weapons on display, and the reason quickly became apparent: one of the transports that was presently being loaded had a line of shackled Decepticons waiting outside its loading doors. Ratchet stopped a safe distance away and looked at the procession, suddenly reminded of their own experience. This was different, though, right?

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Reflexively, Wheeljack tucked back a bit, suddenly stricken with the same sense of similarity. But . . . no, these weren't innocent hostages. These were enemy soldiers who had been stopped from committing atrocities. And whatever it was that awaited them at the hands of their Autobot captors, the former engineering student was certain it was kinder than anything he, Ratchet, and the others would have faced.

He took another look at the line of 'Cons. Every one of them sported evidence of damage and emergency repairs. Perhaps that was why they were only _now_ being moved, that they'd needed medical care first? Wheeljack figured that made sense.

Wheeljack caught Ratchet's arm, giving it a light tug as he turned for another direction, anywhere but over by those Decepticons. "C-c'mon, Ratch. We should probably-!" He stopped cold at a voice calling out to him, at once terrible and too familiar.

"Hey, 'Jack! You're looking a little better. Haha, I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you!"

Wheeljack spun around back toward the line of prisoners, his optics picking out Skystalker instantly as the other was just being brought out, struggling to free himself, from the medbay to join his fellows. With a faint squeak, Wheeljack started to tuck behind the nearest barrier – Ratchet – but then he caught himself . . . and instead shifted forward, putting himself between his tormentor and his new friend. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, but on the very remote chance the other former student actually managed to break free of his guards and come at them, he was _not_ about to let the slagger hurt or even threaten his friend. Not again!

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Ratchet couldn't do much more than gape at the audacity of the Decepticon as he taunted Wheeljack. He was being hauled off as a prisoner of war, and he was STILL making threats? Scowling, Ratchet moved so he was standing next to Wheeljack – he wasn't letting his friend think that he needed to be defended – and pointed an angry finger at the mouthy mech.

"Real scary coming from the glitchhead in the cuffs! Don't tell me the Decepticons recruited you for your mouth!"

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At the same time, one of the guards yanked on the prisoner's arm. "Be quiet!"

"Medic's right," growled another. "Tough talk coming from a shackled patch-job."

Skystalker ignored them, leering at the two student survivors even as the guards hauled him over into line with the rest. "Good to see you too, nursie-bot. Holding off on that trip to Primus, I see. Good! Might wanna keep a close optic on your little dirt-digger friend there." The grin turned even nastier, tilting his head to indicate his captors. "Because this? Is just temporary. And then I'll be coming back for what's _mine_."

"That's _enough _out of you!" the first guard snarled, yanking again, even harder, as he wrestled the Decepticon up the ramp of the transport. Skystalker went with them, laughing.

Wheeljack had glanced at Ratchet when the other stepped up beside him, then refocused on the graduate engineer. Unlike anyone else, he knew full-well the mech's cunning. At Skystalker's words, it took everything in him not to curl back in denial and terror, trembling softly at the claim and the implied threat – the _promise_ – of things to come. But then he thought again of the mech at his side, and he felt his resolve harden, hands closing in tight fists. _Do what ya will ta me . . . but I _won't_ let you hurt my friend!_

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"The only thing you'll be coming back for is a broken face!"

Ratchet watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Skystalker was forced on board the transport and out of sight. "Slagger..." he muttered before looking over at Wheeljack. He didn't know the details about what the other mech had gone through, but he knew enough, and it just made him all the angrier about the whole situation. But that was what mechs like Skystalker and Gutcruncher wanted, right? They pushed at those buttons because it was what they were _good _at, and it was easier to be a thug pounding on the easy spots than having the guts to do the difficult things in life.

He gave Wheeljack a light nudge on the arm to redirect his attention. "Forget about him. He can sit and mouth off to his buddies in an Autobot holding cell until the end of time for all it matters."

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Wheeljack's attention was wholly on the transport . . . and what an overactive imagination was suddenly painting for him in his future. He really had been an idiot to think things would improve once Skystalker had left the school, hadn't he? The continued torment from others notwithstanding – he'd chalked that up to habit. After the encounter in the basement of Engineering, though, he realized just how wrong he'd been.

At the intern's nudge, Wheeljack _jumped_ as if he'd been electrocuted. He even rubbed absently at his arm as he looked up, optics dim and pale. Wrestling his composure back into place, he nodded even as he drew a shuddery intake of air, fans rattling softly with stress. He forced more confidence into his voice than he was actually feeling. "Heh, yeah. Hey, with any luck, they'll bury him so deep in Detention, even Primus Himself'd have a hard time findin' him, yeah?"

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"A mech can only hope," Ratchet answered, moving away from the transport with Wheeljack in tow. He was done hanging around the unsettling procession. After they were out of range from the Decepticons and their Autobot handlers, he spoke up again.

"Why didn't you do anything about those scrapheads if they were harassing you?" Ratchet wasn't blind, deaf or stupid – he'd put two and two together in the short time he'd been around Wheeljack, and it didn't take much to figure out what had been happening to the engineer before now. The whole situation really scuffed his aft.

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Wheeljack followed all too readily, making himself look around at everyone and everything around him. It kept him from dwelling on what had just happened.

He flinched in mild surprise, pulled suddenly from his thoughts as he was, but couldn't say he _was_ surprised by Ratchet's question. One foot scuffed at the ground as he vented a heavy cycle of air through his exhausts and shrugged. "What was I supposed ta do? I mean . . . I tried ta keep 'em from harassin' or _hurtin'_ anyone else, but . . . well, for one, I knew I could take it." He snorted in self-deprecating derision. "I'm a minin' mech. We're built for punishment. An' besides, there really wasn't anythin' I _could_ do. I wasn't even supposed ta _be_there, Ratchet. The doyen owed me a favor after I helped 'im out of a scrap, but he could only cover me so far. I couldn't afford ta get in trouble or have any kinda attention brought on myself from any authorities. The attention I got as it was, was bad enough.

"People like Skystalker are untouchable - heh, _were_untouchable..." he added with a forced chuckle, glancing back in the direction of the transport. "But anyway . . . seriously, if ya think about it, who woulda gotten suspended or expelled if anythin' was brought up? The glitch with all the backin' an' who half the people are afraid'a fraggin' off, or the glitch from the aft-end of the Badlands with the faked school records an' the crank-cased ideas that keep slaggin' classrooms?" Okay, so he was exaggerating on that last . . . but so did everyone else. He dearly loved what he did, accidents and all, but he wasn't deaf to what people said about him.

He shook his head. "Easier ta just keep my head down, do what they said, take the punishments when they came, an' bide my time till they left school or I did. I just had ta outlast 'em, that's all. Once I had my degree, I could get a good position somewhere – hopefully with the Ministry of Science or somethin'! – an' then where I'd come from wouldn't matter so much. I'd have a degree an' accomplishments I could point to." He made a show of pointing at his other palm as if he had a data pad or film sheet in it. "'See? I'm worth somethin' to ya. Look what I've done so far. Just gimme a chance, an' I'll show ya what I can do for you too.'"

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Ratchet crossed his arms and listened to what his friend had to say, mulling it over as it came out of him. He couldn't empathize with Wheeljack's situation to completely understand it and maybe from where he was standing, it looked different – it was easy for a mech to stand up on high and proclaim that this is the way things _should_ be, but he did at least know from experience that that wasn't always the way things _were_. Still, there had to be a difference between preaching and believing, right? He frowned at Wheeljack, staring at the mock 'data pad', then back at the former engineering student himself.

"Oh sure. Wheeljack the punching bag, that's who we want! The one who got himself up out of the mines and into Gygax and _still_ didn't have the bearings to hold his head up to a bunch of low-RAM bullies. Definitely him. Let's stick him in the hot seat." He paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts before continuing.

"You know, you can stand there and talk about your accomplishments until your systems shut down, but how much are they gonna mean if you're still down in the scrap where you let those mechs put you?"

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The engineer recoiled at the words, taken completely off-guard. He thought Ratchet would understand!

Or maybe Ratchet _did_ understand, and it was Wheeljack who was just fooling himself. His gaze and shoulders dropped, head hanging. "Y-yeah . . . yeah, guess you're right." But then the wording of the intern's last comment really hit him, and his head snapped back up. "Wait . . . _'let'_ them put me? 'Let' nothin'! I already know what scrap I am, Ratchet. I've been tryin' ta get myself _outta_ that heap! Yeah, I took their abuse, I know that, but . . . well, fraggit, what else was I _supposed_ ta do? If I pushed back too much, they'd just have me expelled. Skystalker _knew_, Ratchet! I don't know how but he did. A-an' he . . . "

The fight drained back out of him suddenly, shoulders slumping with a shrug. "I just . . . right or wrong, I didn't know what else ta do. I mean . . . I thought about goin' ta the doyen, maybe in private, but he'd already done too much for me. I couldn't involve him in that too." Not to mention that Skystalker honestly scared the living spark out of the younger engineer, but he wasn't about to admit to that.

And now the doyen was dead. He'd not been a "friend" per se, but he was someone Wheeljack owed a great deal to, had looked up to. And now he was gone. The engineer passed a hand over his face as he realized and took a moment to deal with that new point of grief before making himself shove it aside for now. He'd deal more fully later, grieving for the doyen and for _all_ those who were just lost.

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Ratchet looked at his friend – watched him go through the motions he'd seen too many times already in the short period of time he'd known him. Reaching out, he gripped Wheeljack's arms and straightened him up, setting his shoulders and making sure his head was up and forward.

"That's what you do. Because you're _not_ scrap. You're a smart mech. The doyen believed in you. Your professors believed in you. Slag, _I_ believed in you enough to follow you down into those tunnels, and the mech I saw down there was one who believed in _himself_."

He let go of Wheeljack then and took a step back, his expression softening. "Maybe there wasn't anything you could to Skystalker... maybe you couldn't fight back; mechs like that just want to kick everyone else around because they can. And you can let him and lay around where he put you even after he's gone, or you can pick yourself back up and hold your head up because you're _better than that_." He punctuated the final few words with a finger to Wheeljack's chest. "The doyen knew it. I'm convinced of it. I know you _want_ to believe it. Maybe you should start listening to that instead of the slag that comes out of the scummy tailpipes Skystalker and his goons call their mouths."

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Wheeljack flinched back on reflex when Ratchet reached to grab at him, but he made himself not pull away. Ratchet was his _friend_. Whatever the intern's intention, it wasn't to hurt him!

Ratchet straightened his stance, and he followed the wordless guidance in silence, gazing up at his friend quizzically by the end.

"That's what you do. Because you're _not_ scrap..."

Wheeljack could do little more than gape up at his new friend, a little stunned. A hand brushed absently over his chest in the wake of Ratchet's poking as he took in the other's words and their meaning. It hit him that the earlier "attack" was probably Ratchet's way of making a point, not _actually_ meaning to put him down. He felt the tension ease from the cables running through his shoulder struts, and he nodded, his voice quiet when he finally spoke.

"I . . . I _do_ believe in myself. I know I can do it if they'll just give me a chance. I just . . . I've always had ta _fight_ ta get that chance. An' I-I _do_ pick myself back up after . . . but you're right." He'd pick himself up and keep going, but it was because he wanted _to be _'better than that'. He'd never quite managed to convince himself that he actually was – there was always one more thing he had to do first, one more step to take to get there.

But what Ratchet was saying – what he seemed to genuinely believe – was that he _already was_.

They'd both said "thank you" so many times already that Wheeljack almost _didn't_ want to say it again. It risked cheapening the words. But he didn't know what to say instead. Then, his subconscious answered before his conscious mind could - he'd stepped in and was hugging the other mech before he knew what he was doing.

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_"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."_  
- Anais Nin

* * *

Author's Note: I noted at the beginning of the first chapter that this stemmed from a roleplay I was playing with a friend of mine. This is as far as we got before real life started kicking her in the teeth. That was the first part of December last year. I'd been slowly posting this, dragging it out, on the hopes that we'd be able to pick it back up sometime – there's been talk of it on and off over the past year – but it's . . . just not happened, and I'm past the point of thinking it might still. Which is fine – RL comes first, always. I've tried to write a decent ending for this myself, but I . . . I cannot do Ratchet justice. Not to follow up _this_ with my own attempts. I know I've written Ratchet myself in other fics, but . . . I don't feel he compares to Reve's, and for this, I just have continuously failed to manage anything, so . . . I'm posting this as-is rather than not post it at all, which is the only other option.

We were pretty much done anyway. Really all we had left that we'd talked about was for the two to go find Evac and talk to him, and either offer right then to join the Autobots or at least be taken somewhere safe to try to get back on their feet…and they eventually soon after joined the Autobots anyway. There was also a possibility talked about briefly of playing a follow-up to this, where Skystalker _does_ escape and come after them, and they get to deal with him once and for all (a la "What Goes Around" from "Partners, Friends", come to think of it, if anyone reading this is also a Yu Yu Hakusho fan). However, again, unless my friend's life settles down enough for her to have time and _want_ to do that at this point . . . yyyyeah, I really don't see doing it, unfortunately. Just so y'all know.

Anyway, THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING! I hope you've enjoyed!


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